A  WOMAN 

IN 

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T.  WERNER  LAURIE  Ltd. 
8  Essex  Street,  Strand,  London 


A  WOMAN  IN 
CHINA 


BY 

MARY    GAUNT 

1 1 

AUTHOR  OF 
'ALONE  IN  WEST  AFRICA,"  "THE  UNCOUNTED  COST,"  ETC. 


LONDON 

T.  WERNER  LAURIE  LTD. 

8  ESSEX  STREET,   STRAND 


CONTENTS 

/ 
CHAPTER    I 

ACROSS    THE    OLD    WORLD 

PAGE 

My  grandmother's  curios — Camels  and  elephants — Dr 
Morrison — Chinese  in  Australia — Feared  for  his 
virtues — Racial  animosity — Great  Northern  Plain — • 
A  city  of  silence — A  land  of  exile — The  Holy  Sea 
— Frost  flowers  on  a  birch  forest — Chaos  at  Man- 
churia and  Kharbin — Japanese  efficiency — A  Peking 
dust  storm .  .  .  1-18 

CHAPTER    II 

A    CITY    OF    THE    AGES 

Chien  Men  Railway  Station— Driver  Chow—"  Urgent 
speed  in  high  disdain  " — Peking  dust  storm — Joys  of 
a  bath — The  glories  of  Peking- — The  Imperial  City — 
The  Forbidden  City — Memorial  arches — The  observ- 
atory— The  little  Tartar  princess — Life  in  the  streets 
— Street  stalls — A  mercenary  marriage — Courtly 
gentlemen J9-39 

CHAPTER    III 

THE     WALLS     AND      GATES     OF     BABYLON 

The  mud  walls  of  Kublai  Khan — Only  place  for  a  com- 
fortable promenade — The  gardens  on  the  walls — 
Guarding  the  city  from  devils— The  dirt  of  the 
Chinese — The  gates— The  camels— In  the  Chien  Men 
•— — The  patient  Chinese  women' — The  joys  of  living  in 
a  walled  city— A  change  in  Chinese  feeling  .  .  40-55 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER    IV 

THE    LEGATION    QUARTER    OF   PEKING 

PAG* 

A  forgotten  tragedy — The  troops — "  Lest  We  Forget  " — 
The  fortified  wall— "  No  low-class  Chinese  "—The 
last  thing  in  the  way  of  insults — A  respecter  of  power 
— Racing  stables — Pekin  s' 'amuse — Chinese  gentle- 
man on  a  waltz — Musical  comedy — The  French  of  the 
Far  East — Chances  of  an  outbreak — No  wounded  .  56-75 


CHAPTER    V 

THE   FUNERAL   OF   AN   EMPRESS 

A  good  republican — The  restricted  Empire  of  the  Manchus 
— Condign  punishment — Babylon — An  adventurous 
Chinaman— The  entrance  to  the  Forbidden  City— 
The  courtyards  of  Babylon — A  discordant  and  jarring 
note — Choirs  of  priests — A  living  Buddha — "  The 
Swanee  River  " — The  last  note  in  bathos — Palace 
eunuchs — Out  of  hand — Afternoon  tea — The  funeral 
procession — The  imperial  bier — Quaint  and  strange 
and  Eastern •  7^-97 


CHAPTER    VI 

A      TIME      OF      REJOICING 

The  charm  of  Peking— A  Chinese  theatre— Electric  light 
— The  custodian  of  the  theatre — Bargaining  for  a 
seat — The  orchestra — The  scenery  of  Shakespeare — 
Realistic  gesture — A  city  wall — A  mountain  spirit — 
Gorgeous  dresses — Bundles  of  towels — Women's 
gallery — Armed  patrols— Rain  in  April— The  food 
of  the  peasant — Famine — The  value  of  a  daughter — 
God  be  thanked 98-112 


CONTENTS  ix 


CHAPTER    VII 

ONE   OF   THE   WONDERS   OF   THE   WORLD 

PAGE 

Courteous  Americans — Nankou  Pass — Beacon  towers — 
Inaccessible  hills — "  Balbus  has  built  a  wall  " — Tiny 
towns — "Watchman,  what  of  the  night!  " — 
Deserted  watch-towers — Thoughtful  Chinese  waiter 
— Ming  tombs — Chinese  carrying  chair — Stony  way — 
Greatest  p'ia  lou  in  China — Amphitheatre  among  the 
barren  hills — Tomb  of  Yung  Lo — Trunks  of  sandal- 
wood  trees — Enterprising  Chinese  guard  .  .  .  113-129 

CHAPTER      VIII 

TWO     CHARITIES 

The  manufacturing  of  the  blind — "  Before  born  " — The 
Rev.  Hill  Murray— "  The  Message  "—Geography- 
Marriage — A  brave  little  explorer — Massacre  of  the 
blind — Deposits  of  one  tael — A  missionary  career — 
The  charitable  Chinese — A  Buddhist  Orphanage — 
Invitation  to  a  funeral — An  intellectual  abbot — The 
youngest  orphan — Pity  and  mercy  ....  130-150 

CHAPTER    IX 

A     CHINESE     INN 

The  start  for  Jehol — Tuan — A  Peking  cart — Chinese  roads 
— A  great  highway — Chances  of  camping  out — 
"  Room  for  ten  thousand  merchant  guests  " — 
Human  occupancy — Dust  of  ages — Eyes  at  the 
window — Catering  for  the  journey — The  Chinese 
chicken,  minced 151-163 

CHAPTER  X 

THB      TUNGLING 

A  Peking  cart  as  a  cure  for  influenza — Difficulties  of  a 
narrow  road — The  dead  have  right  of  way — The 
unlucky  women — Foot  binding — "  Beat  you,  beat 
you  "—Lost  luggage—"  You  must  send  your  hus- 
band " — Letter-writing  under  difficulties — A  master- 
less  woman — Malanyu — Most  perfect  place  of  tombs 
in  the  world 164-183 


*  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER    XI 

A     WALLED     CITY 

PA  Oft 

Numerous  walled  towns — The  dirt  of  them — T'ung  Chow 
— Romance  of  the  evening  light — My  own  little  walled 
city — The  gateways — Hospitable  landlady — Bald  heads 
— My  landlady's  room — A  return  present — "  The 
ringleaders  have  been  executed  " — Summary  Justice 
— To  the  rescue  of  the  missionaries  at  Hsi  An  Fu — 
The  Elder  Brother  Society — Primitive  method  of 
attack  and  defence — The  sack  of  I  Chiin  .  .  .  184-211 

CHAPTER    XII 

THE      NINE       DRAGON       TEMPLE 

The  crossing  of  the  Lanho — A  dust  storm — Dangers  of 
a  new  inn — Locked  in — Holy  mountain — Ruined 
city — My  interpreter — A  steep  hill — The  barren  woman 
— Unappetising  food — The  abbot — The  beggar — 
burning  incense — The  beauty  of  the  way  .  .  .  212-226 

CHAPTER    XIII 

IN     THE     HEART     OF     THE     MOUNTAINS 

Etiquette  of  the  Chinese  cart — Ruined  city — The  building 
of  the  wall — The  advice  of  a  mule — A  catastrophe — 
The  failing  of  the  Peking  cart — Beautiful  scenery — 
Industrious  people — The  posters  of  the  mountains 
— Inn  yards — The  heads  of  the  people — Mountain 
dogs — Wolves — A  slum  people — Artistic  hands — 
"  Cavalry  "—The  last  pass 227-251 

CHAPTER    XIV 

"  TO      THE      GREEKS,      FOOLISHNESS  " 

Missionary  compound — Prayer — Reputed  dangers  of  the 
way — The  German  girl — Midwife — The  Bible  as  a 
guide — "  My  yoke  is  easy,  My  burden  is  light  " — A 
harem — Helping  the  sick  and  afflicted — A  case  of 
hysteria — Drastic  remedies — Ensuring  a  livelihood — 
"  Strike,  strike  " — Barbaric  war-song— The  Chinese 
soldier— The  martyrdom  of  the  Roman  Catholic  priest  252-272 


CONTENTS  xi 

CHAPTER  XV 

A     VISIT     TO    THE     TARTAR    GENERAL 

PAGE 

Hsiung  Hsi  Ling,  Premier  of  China — Preparations  for 
a  call — A  cart  of  State — An  elderly  mule — Waiting 
in  the  gate — The  yamen — Mr  Wu,  the  secretary — 
"  Hallo,  Missus  !  " — The  power  of  a  Chinese  General 
— "  Plenty  robber,  too  much  war  " — Ceremonial 
farewell — A  cultivated  gentleman — Back  to  past  ages 
for  the  night 273-282 

CHAPTER   XVI 

A    PLEASURE-GROUND     OF     THE    MANCHUS 

A  return,  call — Ceremonies — A  dog-robbing  suit — 
Difficulties  of  conversation — A  treat  for  the  amah — 
The  British  Ambassador  at  Jehol  in  the  eighteenth 
century — The  last  stages  of  decrepitude — Glories  of  the 
park — The  bronze  temple — A  flippant  young  Chinese 
gentleman — "  Ladies'  temple  " — Desolation  and  dirt 
and  ruin — "  Happiness  Hall  " — Examining  a 
barbarian  .........  283-299 

CHAPTER  XVII 

THE      VALLEY      OF      THE      DEAD      GODS 

Legend  of  the  birth  of  Ch'ien  Lung — A  valley  of  temples 
— Wells — A  temple  fair — Hawking — Suicide's  rock — 
Five  hundred  and  eight  Buddhas — The  Po-Ta-La — 
Supercilious  elephants — Steep  steps — Airless  temple 
— The  persevering  frog — Bright-roofed  Temple — Tea 
at  the  Temple  of  the  great  Buddha— The  Yuan  T'ing 
— Ming  temple  outside  Peking 300-320 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

IN       A       WUPAN 

The  difficulties  of  the  laundry — A  friend  in  need — A 
strange  picnic  party — The  authority  of  the  parent — 
Travelling  in  a  mule  litter — Rain — A  frequented 


xii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

highway — Yellow  oiled  paper — Restricted  quarters 
— Dodging  the  smoke — ''What  a  lot  you  eat!  " — 
Charm  of  the  river — Modest  Chinamen — The  best- 
beloved  grandchild — The  gorges  of  the  Lanho — 
The  Wall  again — Effect  of  rain  on  the  Chinaman — 
The  captain's  cash -box — A  gentleman  of  Babylon — 
Lanchou  .........  321-340 

CHAPTER   XIX 

A     RIVER     PORT     IN     BABYLON 

The  question  of  squeeze — Batter  fingers  for  the  boatmen 
— An  array  of  damp  scarecrows — Ox  carts — Pre- 
historic wheels — A  decadent  people — Beggars — The 
playing  of  a  part — A  side  show — Cumshaw  .  .  341-349 


CHAPTER    XX 

THE      WAYS      OF      THE      CHINESE      SERVANT 

The  heat  of  Peking — The  wall  by  moonlight — Tongshan 
— "  Your  devoted  milkman  " — The  eye  of  the 
mistress — A  little  fort — In  case  of  an  outbreak — The 
Temple  of  the  Sleeping  Buddha — A  runaway  bride — 
The  San  Shan  An — My  own  temple  courtyard — The 
missing  outfit — The  Language  Officer — Friends  in 
need 350-368 


CHAPTER   XXI 

FROM      THE      SAN      SHAN      AN 

An  old  temple — Haunted — Wolf  with  green  eyes — Lone- 
liness— Death  of  missionaries — Fear — Sanctuaries — 
"  James  Buchanan  " — Valiant  farmers — Autumn 
tints — Famous  priest — Sacrifice  of  disciples — Tree 
conserving — Camels  at  my  gate — Servants — "  Cook 
book  " — Enchanted  hills — Cricket  cages — Kindly 
people — The  fall  of  Belshazzar — Hope  for  the  future  369-390 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Author  at   the   Ming  Tombs        ....  Frontispiece 

Street  In  Chinese  City Facing  page  4 

Camels     outside     South-western     Watch-tower, 

Peking    .                           .                           .  ,,4 

A  Manchu  Woman       ......  ,,           14 

The  Ha  Ta  Men  from  the  Wall          ...  „           14 

Guard-house  in  Imperial  City     ....  ,,22 

A  Wall  and  Gate  of  the  Imperial  City       .  „          22 

Watering  Streets,   Peking             ....  „          28 

Astronomical    Instruments             ....  ,,          28 

Courtyard  of  Temple  of  Confucius     ...  ,,32 

"  Lest   we   forget  " ,,32 

Gate  on  the  Wall,  Peking „          36 

The  Ha  Ta  Men  from  the  Wall         ...  „          36 

Path  on  Top  of  Wall,  Peking     ....  ,,          42 

Catapult  Stones  on  the  Wall       ....  ,,          42 

Soldiers  on  the  Wall ,,          46 

Catapult  Stone  on,  the  Wall         ....  „          46 

Camels  outside  the  South-western  Gate     .         .  ,,          50 

Camels  by  the  Ha  Ta  Men         ....  ,,          50 

Inside  the  Curtain  Wall  of  the  Chien  Men       .  ,,54 

Camels  outside  South-western  Wall,   Peking     .  „           54 

Entrance  to  British   Legation      ....  ,,58 

Astronomical  Instruments  on  the  Wall       .  ,,          58 

Ramp  leading  to  top  of  Tartar  Wall  ...  ,,          64 

German  Fort  on  the  Wall            ....  ,,          64 

South-eastern  Watch-tower,  Peking     ...  ,,           70 

A  Fort  of  the  British  Legation  ....  ,,           70 

Peking  from  the  Wall  in  Winter        ...  ,,           78 

xiii 


xiv         LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Entrance  to  the  Forbidden  City  ....  Facing  page  78 

A  Path  in/  the  Grounds  of  the  Winter  Palace  .  ,,84 

A   Secluded   Corner   of  the  Winter   Palace         .  ,,84 

Camels   in   Morison    Street           ....  ,,          90 

Making  Cakes,   Street  in  Peking        ...  ,,          90 

The  Chien  Men  from  the  Curtain  Wall     .  ,,          94 

P'ia  Lou  near  the  American   Legation       .  ,,           94 

Gilded   Shop-front,    Peking           ....  ,,          98 

Corner  in   Peking ,,           98 

Gathering  in  Kaoliang  for  Threshing        .  ,,         108 

A   Threshing-floor ,,         108 

The  Great  Wall  of  China ,,114 

Temple  in  Tomb  of  Yung  Lo     .         .         .         .  ,,         114 

The   Nankou  Pass „        118 

Gateway  in  the  Wall,  Nankou  Pass    .         .        .  ,,         118 

P'ia  Lou  at  Entrance  to  Holy  Way     .        .         .  ,,         122 

Holy  Way,   Ming  Tombs ,,         122 

A  Window  in  a  Tower  of  the  Great  Wall          .  ,,         126 

Marble  Elephant  on  the  Holy  Way   ...  ,,         126 

Mission  to  the  Blind,   Peking      ....  ,,         132 

Girls  at  Mission  to  the  Blind       ....  ,,         132 

Blind  Boys  coming  out  of  School      ...  ,,         138 

Blind  Boys  Playing  at  "  Cat  and  Mouse  "  ,,         138 

Missionary  Compound,  looking  West          .  ,,         146 

Festive  Entrance  to  Buddhist  Orphanage    .         .  ,,         146 

Leaving  the  "  Wagons  Lits  "  for  the  Mountains  ,,         154 

A  Street  Stall ,,154 

Inn  Yard,   Peking  Cart  in  Foreground      .         .  ,,         162 

Gossiping                ,,        162 

Tug-of-war,    Buddhist    Orphanage       ...  „         174 

Missionary  Compound,   looking  East           .         .  ,,         174 

At  foot  of  Holy  Mountain ,,        182 

Entrance  to  the  late  Dowager  Empress's  Tomb  ,,         182 

Outside  a  Walled  City „        188 

Gate   of  a   Walled   City 188 

Dead  Gods  at  Tsung  Hua  Chou         ...  ,,196 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS  xv 

Temple  Courtyard  at  Tsung  Hua  Chou      .         .  Facing  page  196 

North-west  corner  of  Wall,  Pao  Ting  Fu           .  ,,  200 

A  Coolie  in  the  Street,  Tsung  Hua  Chou    .  ,,  200 

A  Temple  set  in/  the  Trees          .         .         .         .  ,,  212 

Crossing  the  Lanho       .         .        .         ,         .         .  ,,  212 

Steps  up  to  the  Nine  Dragon  Temple         .  ,,  220 

Steps  up  to  the  Nine  Dragon  Temple         .         .  ,,  220 

Entrance  to  Nine  Dragon  Temple       ...  ,,  224 

Carrying  Water  to  Nine  Dragon  Temple          .  ,,  224 

Through   the  Great  Wall   into   Inner  Mongolia  ,,  230 

Peking  Cart  Upset       ...            ...  ,,  230 

Inn    Yard,    Litter    with    mules    waiting    to    be 

loaded               ,,  236 

Inn  Yard  in  the  Mountains,   My  Carts     .         .  ,,  236 

Street  in  Pa  Kou ,,  246 

"Cavalry"  ,,246 

Manchu     Woman     and     Child     in     Missionary 

Compound                ......  ,,  262 

Manchu    and    Chinese    Women    in    Missionary 

Compound ,,  262 

Bridge   in    Park  ,,276 

Emperor's  Theatre,   Jehol ,,  276 

Pavilions  on  Bridge  across  Lake,  Jehol     .         .  „  280 

A  Boat-house  in  the  Park ,,  280 

Lake  in  Park,  Jehol ,,  284 

End  of  Lake  in  Park,  Jehol       ....  ,,  284 

Lake  in  Park,  Jehol ,,  288 

Emperor's    Bedroom ,,  288 

Golden  Mountain  and  Source  of  Jehol  River      .  ,,  292 

Mr  Wu  at  the  Entrance  to  the  Temple      .  ,,  292 

Women's  Temple,  Jehol ,,  296 

"  Happiness  Hall"  ,,296 

Pavilions  on  Lake,   Jehol }>  298 

Women's  Bathing-place ,,  298 

Lamaserie ,,  302 

Carts  at  the  Fair „  302 

Entrance  to  Lamaserie        .....  M  306 


xvi         LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Doorway  in  a  Temple  in  the  Valley    .         .         .  Facing  Page  306 

Temple  at  the  Top  of  Lamaserie         .         .         .  ,,  310 

Farm-house  above  the  Marble  Priest  .         .         .  ,,  310 

Bright-roofed   Temple ,,314 

Corner  of   Bright-roofed  Temple         .        .         .  ,,  314 

Yuan  T'ing  Round-roofed  Tibetan  Temple        ,  ,,  318 

Ming  Temple  outside  Peking      ....  ,,  318 

A  Raft  of  Railway  Sleepers  on  the  Lanho       .  ,,  326 

A  Mule-litter,  by  the  Lanho         ....  ,,  326 

A  Fair  Wind  on  the  Lanho         ....  ,,  330 

My   Boat  and  Crew ,,  330 

Going  to  the  Dragon  Boat  Feast        ...  ,,  338 

Cook   Stall  .,338 

A   Mixed  Team             ,,  346 

A   Wayfarer ,,  346 

The  Fort  in  the  Compound  at  Tongshart    .  ,,  352 

Entrance  to  House,  Tongshan      ....  ,,  352 

Place  of  Tombs  below  San  Shan  An    ...  ,,  358 

Valley  of  the  San  Shan  An ,,  358 

View   from   Temple ,,  362 

Place  of  Tombs  below  the  look-out  place          .  ,,  362 

A  Courtyard  of  the  Temple         ....  ,,  368 

Tiffin  at  the  San  Shan  An ,,368 

Bridge  across  Moat,   Pao  Ting  Fu     .         .         .  ,,  372 

Curtain  Wall  of  West  Gate,  Pao  Ting  Fu  ,,  372 

Seated  Elephant,   Po  Ta  La         .         .        .         .  „  376 

Marble  Priest  on  Tableland  at  San  Shan  An     .  ,,  376 

Camels  at  my  Gate,  San  Shan  An     .        .         .  ,,  380 

Visitors  at  the  San  Shan  An       ....  ,,  380 

Cook  and  Boy,  Temple  and  Courtyard       .  ,,  384 

The  Look-out  Place,  Abandoned  for  the  Winter  ,  ,,  384 


A   WOMAN  IN  CHINA 


CHAPTER    I 

ACROSS    THE    OLD    WORLD 

My  grandmother's  curios — Camels  and  elephants — Dr  Morrison 
— Chinese  in  Australia — Feared  for  his  virtues — Racial 
animosity — Great  Northern  Plain — A  city  of  silence — A  land 
of  exile — The  Holy  Sea — Frost  flowers  on  a  birch  forest — 
Chaos  at  Manchuria  and  Kharbin — Japanese  efficiency — A 
Peking  dust  storm. 

WHEN  I  was  a  little  girl  and  was  taken  to  see  my 
grandmother,  she  set  out  for  my  amusement,  to  be 
looked  at  but  not  touched  by  little  fingers,  various 
curios  brought  home  by  my  grandfather  from  China 
in  the  old  days  when  he  was  a  sailor  in  the  Honour- 
able   East    India    Company's    service ;    beautifully 
carved  ivory  chessmen,  a  model  of  a  Chinese  lady's 
foot  about  three  inches  long,  dainty  mother-of-pearl 
counters  made    in   the    likeness   of   all   manner  of 
strange    beasts,    lacquer    boxes    and    ivory    balls; 
models  of  palankeens  in  ivory,  and  fans  that  seemed 
to  me,  brought  up  in  the  somewhat  rough-and-ready 
surroundings  of  a  new  country,  dreams  of  loveliness. 
The  impression  was  made,  I  felt  the  fascination  of 
China,  the  fascination  of  a  thing  far  beyond  me.     Like 
the  pretty  things,  so  out  of  my  reach  it  seemed  that  I 
did  not  even  add  it  to  the  list  of  places  I  intended  to 

I  A 


2  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

visit  when  I  grew  up,  for  even  then  my  great  desire 
was  to  travel  all  over  the  world ;  I  was  born  with  the 
wander  fever  in  my  blood,  but  unfortunately  with 
small  means  of  satisfying  it.  As  I  grew  older  I  used 
to  read  every  travel  book  I  could  get  hold  of,  and 
later  on  when  I  began  to  live  by  my  pen  I  got  into 
the  habit  of  gauging  my  chances  of  seeing  a  country 
by  the  number  of  books  written  about  it.  China, 
judged  by  this  standard,  fell  naturally  into  the  place 
assigned  to  it  by  my  grandmother's  curios ;  for  from 
the  days  of  Marco  Polo  men  have  gone  up  and  down 
the  land,  painfully,  sorrowfully,  gladly,  triumphantly, 
and  at  least  half  of  them  seem  to  have  put  pen  to 
paper  to  describe  what  they  have  seen.  Was  it 
likely  there  would  be  anything  left  for  me  to  write 
about? 

Then  one  bright  Sunday  morning  when  the  sun 
was  shining,  as  he  does  occasionally  shine  in  England, 
the  spirit  moved  me  to  go  down  the  Brighton  line  to 
spend  a  day  with  Parry  Truscott,  a  fellow  story- 
teller. The  unkind  Fates  have  seen  to  it  that  I  live 
alone,  and  arriving  at  Victoria  that  bright  morning 
I  felt  amiably  disposed  and  desirous  of  exchanging 
ideas  with  somebody.  In  the  carriage  I  had  chosen 
were  already  seated  two  nicely  dressed  women,  and 
coming  along  the  platform  was  a  porter  with  hot- 
water  bottles.  The  morning  was  sharp  and  the 
opportunity  was  not  to  be  lost,  I  turned  to  them  and 
asked  them  if  they  would  not  like  a  hot-water  bottle. 
Alas!  Alas!  Those  women  towards  whom  I  had 
felt  so  friendly  evidently  did  not  reciprocate  *ny 
feelings.  In  chilly  accents  calculated  to  discourage 
the  boldest — and  I  am  not  the  boldest — they  gave 
me  to  understand  that  they  required  neither  the  hot- 


ACROSS    THE    OLD    WORLD          3 

water  bottle  nor  my  conversation,  so,  snubbed,  I 
retired  to  the  other  side  of  the  carriage  and  amused 
myself  with  my  own  thoughts  and  the  sunshine  and 
shadow  on  the  green  country  through  which  we  were 
passing.  Half  the  journey  was  done  when  I  saw, 
to  my  astonishment,  a  sight  that  is  not  often  seen  in 
the  Sussex  lanes,  a  train  of  camels  and  elephants 
marching  along.  It  seemed  to  me  something  worth 
seeing,  and  entirely  forgetting  that  I  had  been  put 
in  my  place  earlier  in  the  morning  I  cried,  "  Oh, 
look !  Look !  Camels  and  elephants !  " 

Those  two  ladies  were  a  credit  to  the  English 
nation.  They  bore  themselves  with  the  utmost  pro- 
priety. What  they  thought  of  me  I  can  only  dimly 
guess,  but  they  never  even  raised  their  eyes  from 
their  papers.  Of  course  the  train  rushed  on,  the 
camels  and  elephants  were  left  behind,  and  there 
was  nothing  to  show  they  had  ever  been  there. 
Then  I  regret  to  state  that  I  lay  back  and  laughed 
till  I  cried,  and  whenever  I  felt  a  little  better  the 
sight  of  those  two  studious  women  solemnly  reading 
their  papers  set  me  off  again.  When  I  got  out  at 
Hassocks  they  did  not  allow  themselves  to  Jook 
relieved,  that  perhaps  would  have  been  expressing 
too  much  emotion  before  a  stranger  who  had  behaved 
in  so  eccentric  a  fashion,  but  they  literally  drew  their 
skirts  around  them  so  that  they  should  not  touch 
mine  and  be  contaminated  as  I  passed. 

There  is  always  more  than  one  side  to  a  story ; 
how  I  should  love  to  hear  the  version  of  that  journey 
told  by  those  two  ladies ;  doubtless  it  would  not  in 
the  faintest  degree  resemble  mine.  And  yet  there 
really  were  camels  and  elephants.  And  so  it 
occurred  to  me  why  not  go  to  a  country  and  try  and 


4  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

write  about  it,  although  many  had  written  before. 
If  the  gods  were  kind  might  I  not  find  a  story  even 
in  China. 

Meanwhile  one  of  my  brothers  had  married  a 
sister  of  Dr  Morriso^  and  I  had  come  into  touch 
with  the  famous  Times  correspondent,  an  Australian 
like  myself,  and  when  he  came  to  England  he  used 
to  come  and  see  me,  and  we  talked  about  China. 
When  I  met  him  again  after  my  elephant  and  camel 
experience  I  asked  his  opinion,  would  it  be  worth  my 
while  to  go  to  China? 

He  was  quite  of  opinion  it  would,  more,  he  and 
his  newly-wedded  wife  gave  me  a  cordial  invitation 
to  stay  with  them,   and  the  thing  was   settled.     I 
decided  to  go  to  Peking.     Accordingly,  on  the  last 
day  of  January  in  the  year  of  Our  Lord  1913,  I  left 
Charing  Cross  in  a  thick  fog  for  the  Far  East.     It 
is  a  little  thing  to  do,  to  get  into  a  train  and  be 
whirled  eastward.     There  is  nothing  wonderful  about 
it  and  yet — and  yet — to  me  it  was  the  beginning  of 
romance.     I  was  bound  across  the  old  world  for  a 
land  where  people  had  lived  as  a  civilised  people  for 
thousands  of  years  before  we  of  the  West  emerged 
from  barbarism,  for  a  country  which  the  new  nation 
from  which   I   have  sprung  regards  with  peculiar 
interest.       Australia    has    armed    herself.       Why? 
Because  of  China's  millions  to  the  north.     Australia 
has  voted  solid  for  a  white  Australia,   and  rigidly 
excluded  the  coloured  man.     Why?     Not  because 
she  fears  the  Kanaka  who  helped  to  develop  her 
sugar  plantations,  but  because  she  fears  the  yellow 
man  and  his  tireless  energy  and  his  low  standard  of 
living. 

When  I  was  a  child  my  father,  warden  of  the 


STREET  IN  CHINESE  CITY. 


CAMELS   OUTSIDE   SOUTH-WEST    WATCH   TOWER,    PEKING. 
(See  page  48) 


ACROSS    THE    OLD    WORLD          5 

goldfield  where  he  was  stationed,  was  also,  by  virtue 
of  his  office,  protector  of  the  Chinese;  and  Heaven 
knows  the  unfortunate  Chinese,  industrious,  hard- 
working men  of  the  coolie  class  from  Amoy  and 
Canton,  badly  needed  a  protector.  Many  a  time 
have  I  seen  an  unfortunate  Chinaman,  cut  and 
bleeding,  come  to  my  father's  house  to  claim  his 
protection.  The  larrikins,  as  we  used  to  call  the 
roughs,  had  stoned  him  for  no  reason  that  they  or 
anyone  else  could  understand  but  only  because  he 
was  a  Chinaman.  Now  I  understand  what  puzzled 
and  shocked  me  then,  and  what  shocks  me  still.  It 
is  that  racial  animosity  that  is  so  difficult  to  explain 
to  the  home-staying  Englishman:  that  animosity 
which  is  aroused  because,  subconsciously,  the  white 
man  knows  that  the  yellow  man,  in  lowering  the 
standard  of  living,  will  literally  take  away  much  of 
the  bread  and  all  chance  of  butter  from  the  com- 
munity in  which  he  has  a  foothold. 

Here  I  was  going  to  see  the  land  whence  had 
come  that  subservient,  patient,  hard-working  coolie 
of  my  childhood.  And  the  wonder  of  that  rush 
across  the  old  world,  the  twelve  days'  railway  journey 
that  takes  us  from  the  most  modern  of  civilisations  to 
the  most  ancient — it  grew  upon  me  as  we  crossed  the 
great  northern  plain — historic  ground  whereon  the 
great  battles  of  Europe  have  been  fought.  The 
people  in  the  train  were  dining,  supping,  playing 
cards,  sleeping,  and  the  cities  we  passed  in  the  dark- 
ness seemed  mere  clusters  of  dancing  lights,  such 
lights  as  I  have  seen  after  rain  on  many  a  hot 
and  steamy  night  in  West  Africa.  When  morning 
dawned  we  had  passed  Berlin  and  were  slowly  leav- 
ing the  packed  civilisation  behind  us.  A  grey  low 


6  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

sky  was  overhead  and  there  were  clumps  of  fir-trees. 
Dirty  snow  was  in  the  hollows,  and  there  were  long, 
straight  roads  drawn  with  a  ruler  as  they  are  in 
Australia,  with  little  bare  trees  at  regular  intervals 
on  either  side,  and  then  again  dark  fir  woods  and 
rain  everywhere.  Soon  we  had  passed  the  frontier 
and  were  in  Russia,  and  I  felt  I  could  not  rush 
through  without  one  glimpse  of  it,  so  I  stayed  one 
little  week  in  Moscow,  and  I  shall  always  be  glad 
I  did,  though  there,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I 
was  in  a  country  where  my  nationality  did  not  count, 
and  it  was  not  a  pleasant  feeling.  But  Moscow  is 
the  city  of  a  dream.  I  arrived  there  at  night  to 
streets  all  covered  with  a  mantle  of  snow.  The 
many  lights  shone  clear  in  the  keen,  cold,  windless 
air  and  the  sleighs  drawn  by  sturdy  little  horses  glided 
over  the  white  snow  as  silently  as  if  they  had  been 
moving  shadows.  And  when  morning  came  it  was 
snowing.  Softly,  softly,  fell  the  flakes  and  the  city 
was  a  city  of  silence,  white  everywhere,  and  when 
the  sun  came  out  dazzling,  sparkling  white,  only  the 
cupolas  of  the  many  churches — Moscow  in  the  heart 
of  holy  Russia  has  sixteen  hundred — were  golden 
or  bright  blue,  or  dark  vivid  green,  for  the  snow 
that  hid  the  brilliant  roofs  could  not  lie  on  their 
rounded  surfaces.  Above  the  cupolas  are  crosses, 
and  from  the  crosses  hang  long  chains,  and  ever 
and  again  on  the  silence  rang  out  the  musical  clang 
of  some  deep-toned  bell.  But  it  is  the  silence  that 
impresses.  The  bells  were  but  incidental,  trifling — 
the  silence  is  eternal.  The  snow  fell  with  a  hush, 
there  was  no  rush  nor  roar  nor  crash  of  storm,  but 
every  snowflake  counted.  The  little  sledges  were 
half  buried  in  it,  the  drivers  in  their  fur-edged  caps 


ACROSS    THE    OLD    WORLD          7 

and  blue  coats  girt  in  at  the  waist  with  a  red  sash  or 
silver  embroidered  band,  shook  it  out  of  their  eyes 
and  out  of  their  great  beards  and  brushed  it  from 
their  shoulders  ;  in  every  crevice  of  the  old  grey  walls 
of  the  Kremlin  it  piled  up. 

A  dream  city !  A  city  of  silence ! !  The  snow 
reigned,  deadening  all  sound  save  the  insistent  bells 
that  rang  to  the  glory  of  God,  and  the  cawing  of  the 
black  and  grey  crows  that  were  everywhere.  What 
have  scavenger  crows  to  do  in  this  beautiful  city? 
They  were  there  flying  round  the  churches,  darting 
down  the  spotless  roads,  gathering  in  little  con- 
claves, raising  their  raucous  voices  as  if  in  protest 
against  the  all-embracing  silence.  They  were  the 
discordant  note  that  emphasised  the  harmony. 

Cold,  was  .there  ever  such  cold?  The  air 
crackled  with  it.  It  cut  like  a  knife,  for  all  its  clear 
purity.  At  every  street  corner  I  passed  as  I  drove 
to  the  railway  station  were  little  piles  of  fir  logs,  and 
little  braziers  were  burning,  glowing  red  spots  of 
brightness  where  the  miserable  for  a  moment  might 
warm  their  hands. 

They  say  one  should  leave  Moscow  in  summer  to 
cross  the  Siberian  plain,  because  then  there  are  the 
flowers — such  flowers — and  the  green  trees,  and  the 
sunshine,  and  you  may  see  the  road — the  long  and 
sorrowful  road — along  which  for  years  the  exiles 
have  passed.  I  have  heard  many  complaints  about 
the  weariness  of  the  journey  in  winter.  There  is 
nothing  to  be  seen  say  the  grumblers.  For  these 
luckless  ones  I  have  the  sincerest  pity.  They  have 
missed  something  goodly.  I  suppose  for  most  of 
us  life,  as  it  unfolds  itself,  is  a  disappointing  thing, 
full  of  bitterness  and — worse  still — of  unattainable 


8  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

desires,  but  of  one  thing  I  shall  always  be  glad,  that 
I  crossed  the  Siberian  plain  in  the  heart  of  winter, 
and  saw  it  beneath  its  mantle  of  spotless  snow. 
Possibly  I  may  never  see  it  in  summer,  but  its  winter 
beauty  is  something  to  be  remembered  to  my  dying 
day. 

And  yet  it  is  a  land  of  exile.  Even  in  childhood 
I  had  read  of  the  sufferings  of  those  who  have  been 
sent  there ;  and  my  conception  of  the  land  and  the 
reality  before  my  eyes  as  I  rushed  through  it  in  an 
express  train  were  always  starting  up  in  comparison 
with  each  other.  A  land  of  exile,  and  yet  from  the 
plains  of  Eastern  Russia  in  the  west  to  the  frozen 
hills  round  Kharbin  in  the  east  it  is  a  lovely  land. 
It  is  a  plain,  of  course — a  plain  thousands  of  miles 
in  extent,  and  the  vastness  and  the  beauty  of  the 
snow-clad  solitudes  cry  aloud  in  praise  to  the  God 
Who  made  them.  Overhead,  far,  far  away,  is  the 
great  arch  of  the  deep  blue  sky,  clear,  bright,  entic- 
ing, delightful,  with  no  threat  in  its  translucent 
depths  such  as  one  knows  is  latent  in  tropical  lands, 
and  below  is  the  snow-clad  plain,  stretching  far  as 
the  eye  can  see,  bathed  in  the  brilliant  sunshine. 
From  the  desert  and  the  mountains  in  the  south  it 
stretches  away  north  to  the  frozen  sea ;  and  from  the 
busy  towns  of  the  Baltic  in  the  west,  in  close  touch 
with  modern  civilisation,  to  the  busy  toiling  millions 
of  the  East  with  their  own  civilisation  that  comes 
from  a  dateless  antiquity ;  and  in  all  those  thousands 
of  miles  it  changes  its  character  but  little. 

But  first  there  were  the  Urals.  I  had  looked  upon 
them  as  mountains  all  my  life ;  and  I  saw  one  even- 
ing only  some  very  minor  hills,  deep  in  snow,  with 
steep  sides  covered  with  a  forest  of  fir  and  leafless 


ACROSS    THE    OLD    WORLD         9 

larch,  dark  against  the  white  background ;  next 
morning  all  trace  of  them  was  gone,  and  we  were  in 
Asia.  On  the  station  platforms  were  men  and 
women,  Cossacks  of  the  west,  Buriats  of  the  centre, 
Tartars  of  the  east,  Christians,  Buddhists,  Moham- 
medans; there  was  little  difference  in  outward 
appearance,  muffled  as  they  were  against  the  cold 
which  was  often  thirty  degrees  below  freezing-point. 
The  men  were  in  long-skirted  coats,  and  the  women 
in  short  petticoats  and  high  boots,  so  that  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  tell  one  from  the  other  save 
that  on  their  heads  the  men  wore  fur  caps,  ragged, 
dirty,  but  still  fur,r  while  the  women  muffled  them- 
selves in  shawls  still  dirtier.  Though  they  looked 
as  if  they  had  not  given  water  a  thought  from  the 
day  they  were  born,  I,  the  daughter  of  a  subtropical 
land,  could  forgive  them.  Who  could  face  water  in 
such  a  biting  atmosphere  ?  I  sympathised  but  I  did 
not  desire  to  go  too  close  when  we  passengers 
bundled  out  for  exercise  on  the  station  platforms,  at 
least  most  of  us  did.  Some  preferred  bridge. 

"  My  God !  my  God ! "  said  an  old  military  man 
with  unnecessary  fervour.  "What  are  the  idiots 
getting  out  for.  I  go  one  no  trump,  partner.  Where 
is  my  partner?  The  donkey  '11  be  slipping  and  hurt- 
ing himself  on  those  slippery  steps  next  and  then 
our  four  '11  be  spoilt,"  and  he  looked  round  for 
sympathy. 

Someone  murmured  something  about  seeing 
the  country,  but  he  shrivelled  him  with  his 
scorn. 

"  Seeing  the  country !  This  is  the  eleventh  time 
I've  been  across  and  I  never  even  look  out  if  I  can 
help  myself.  Know  better.  Oh,  here  you  are, 


10  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

partner,"    slightly    mollified.      "  I've    gone    one    no 
trump,  and  there  are  two  hearts  against  you." 

It  was  a  curious  thing  to  me  that  most  of  the 
passengers  in  that  luxuriously  equipped  train,  with 
every  comfort  for  the  asking  save  fresh  air,  grumbled 
so  continuously.  It  seems  to  be  the  accepted  thing 
that  the  traveller  who  travels  luxuriously  should 
grumble.  Our  old  soldier  considered  himself  a 
much-injured  individual  when  the  attendants  did 
not  know  by  instinct  when  he  required  lemon  and 
tea  and  when  whisky-and-soda ;  and  the  breaking 
up  of  a  game  of  auction  bridge  because  the  tables 
were  wanted  for  dinner  reduced  him  to  blackest 
despair.  The  hordes  which  through  the  ages  have 
swept,  conquering,  westwards  probably  never  com- 
plained, their  lives  were  too  strenuous,  either  they 
fought  and  died  and  were  at  peace,  or  they  fought 
and  conquered,  and  small  discomforts  were  swallowed 
up  in  the  joy  of  victory.  It  is  left  to  these  modern 
travellers  flying  eastward  at  a  rate  that  would  have 
made  the  old-time  nomads  think  of  witchcraft  and 
sorcery  to  make  a  fuss  about  trifles,  to  complain  of 
the  discomforts  and  hardships  of  the  long  journey 
across  the  old  world. 

I  knew  the  country.  In  the  days  when  I  was  a 
little  girl  studying  my  map  with  diligence  I  should 
have  counted  it  a  joy  unspeakable  if  I  had  thought 
that  ever  I  should  be  crossing  Siberia;  crossing  the 
great  rivers,  the  Obi,  the  Yenesei  and  the  Angara 
that  were  then  as  far  away  and  distant  to  me  as  the 
river  that  Christian  crossed  to  gain  high  Heaven; 
that  I  should  watch  the  sledges  travelling  in  the 
sunlight  along  their  hard,  frozen  surfaces,  I  to  whom 
a  small  piece  of  ice  on  a  saucer  of  water,  which  by 


ACROSS    THE    OLD    WORLD        11 

luck  we  might  get  if  there  happened  to  be  an 
exceptionally  cold  night  in  the  winter,  was  a  wonder 
and  a  delight.  I  suppose  my  joy  would  have  been 
tempered  could  I  have  known  how  many  years  must 
pass  over  my  head  before  this  wonderful  thing  would 
happen,  for  in  those  days  five-and-twenty  seemed 
extraordinarily  old,  and  I  was  very  sure  that  at  thirty 
life  would  not  be  worth  living.  And  I  have  passed 
that  terrible  age  limit  and  have  missed  most  things 
I  have  set  my  heart  upon,  but  still  there  are 
moments  when  life  is  well  worth  living.  Strange 
and  bitter  is  the  teaching  of  the  years — bitter  but 
kindly,  too. 

We  passed  Irkutsk  where  East  and  West  meet,  a 
great  city  with  church  spires  and  cupolas  and  build- 
ings overlooking  the  broad  and  frozen  Angara.  We 
raced  along  by  leafless  woods,  by  barren  stretches 
of  spotless  snow,  and  sometimes  the  swiftly  running 
river  was  piling  up  the  ice  in  great  slabs  and  blocks 
and  girding  and  fretting  at  its  chains,  and  sometimes 
it  was  flowing  free  for  a  few  miles,  the  only  flowing 
river  in  all  the  long,  long  journey  from  the  old 
Russian  capital.  The  water  was  black,  and  dark, 
and  cold,  looking  far  colder  than  the  ice.  The  duck 
rose,  leaving  long  wakes  on  the  water;  then  there 
was  a  little  steam,  and  then  a  greater  steam  in  the 
clear  sunlight,  but  by  the  time  we  reached  Lake 
Baikal,  the  Fortunate  Sea,  the  Holy  Sea,  the  frost 
had  gripped  the  water  again,  the  lake  was  a  sheet  of 
white,  and  the  afternoon  sun  shone  on  hills  snow- 
clad  on  the  eastern  side.  The  hills,  hardly  worth 
mentioning  when  one  thinks  of  the  great  plain 
across  which  we  had  come,  are  down  to  the  very  ice 
edge.  The  great  lake,  the  eighth  in  the  world,  is 


12  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

but  a  cleft  in  them,  and  the  railway  track  runs  on 
a  ledge  cut  out  of  the  steep  hill-side  overhanging 
its  waters,  waters  that  were  now  smooth  and  white 
and  hard  as  marble.  Here  and  there  little  jetties 
run  out;  here  and  there  were  boats,  useless  now, 
close  against  them;  here  and  there  were  piles  of 
wood  that  would  be  burned  up  before  the  thaw.  It 
had  been  Siberia  for  days  but  Baikal  struck  the  true 
Siberian  note. 

Here  there  were  convicts  too.  Some  alterations 
or  repairs  were  being  carried  out  on  the  line,  and 
drab-coloured  convicts  were  working  at  them, 
guarded  by  soldiers  with  fixed  bayonets.  Siberia! 
Siberia  of  the  story-teller!  On  every  little  point  of 
vantage  stood  a  soldier  with  high  fur  cap,  looking 
out  over  the  men  working  below  him,  and  they, 
splitting  wood,  digging  holes  in  the  iron-bound 
ground,  paused  in  their  labours  and  lifted  their  faces 
to  the  passing  train.  Did  it  speak  to  them  of  home 
and  culture  and  love  and  happiness  and  freedom,  or 
were  they  merely  the  brutal  criminal  justly  pun- 
ished, and  the  peasant,  poor  and  simple,  here 
because  the  Government  want  workers,  and  that  he 
cannot  pay  his  taxes  is  excuse  enough. 

The  sun  was  brilliant  but  it  was  cold,  bitter  cold, 
such  cold  as  I  had  never  dreamed  of.  Men's  breath 
came  like  solid  steam,  and  the  hair  on  their  faces 
was  fringed  with  white  hoar-frost.  The  earth  was 
so  hard  frozen  that  they  were  building  great  fires  to 
thaw  it  before  working ;  and  as  the  darkness  fell  the 
flames  leapt  yellow  and  red  and  blue,  glowing  spots 
of  colour  against  the  whiteness  and  the  night.  And 
with  the  night  came  the  full  moon  high  in  the  clear 
sky,  a  disc  of  dazzling  silver.  The  Providence  that 


ACROSS    THE    OLD    WORLD        13 

has  guided  my  wandering  footsteps  surely  gives 
sometimes  with  a  lavish  hand;  that  which  I  have 
sought  earnestly  with  many  tears  is  not  for  me,  but 
this  still  moonlight  winter's  night  in  Siberia  was 
mine,  and  all  the  world  that  we  were  rushing  past 
was  fairyland.  There  was  in  it  nothing  sordid, 
nothing  unclean,  nothing  sorrowful. 

And  it  was  still  fairyland  when  I  awoke  in  the 
morning  to  a  brilliant  sun  shining  upon  a  forest  of 
dainty,  delicate,  graceful  birches  with  every  branch, 
every  little  twig,  clothed  in  sparkling  white,  for  the 
sunbeams  were  caught  and  reflected  a  million  times 
on  the  frost  flowers,  and  the  whole  forest  was  a 
thing  of  beauty  and  wonder  that  to  see  once  is  to 
remember  for  a  lifetime.  It  is  worth  living  to  have 
seen  it.  I  have  seen  great  rivers  and  mountains 
and  been  awed  by  mighty  forests,  I  have  watched 
the  thundering  surf  and  listened  to  the  roar  of  the 
tornado;  but  this  was  something  quite  different. 
Awe  was  not  the  predominant  feeling,  but  joy — joy 
that  such  beauty  exists,  that  I  was  alive  to  look 
upon  it.  Behind  us  lay  a  long,  long  trail.  We  in 
the  rushing  train  represented  the  onward  march  of 
a  mighty  civilisation,  but  all  around  us  in  the 
brilliant  winter  sunshine  lay  the  limitless  plains  of 
Siberia,  and  the  birch  forest,  and  the  snow,  and  the 
frost,  and  the  beauty  that  is  not  made  with  hands, 
that  defies  civilisation,  that  was  before  civilisation, 
and  we  were  moved  to  raise  our  eyes  with  the 
psalmist  and  cry  aloud :  "  How  wonderful  are  thy 
works,  O  Lord!" 

But  I  did  not  appreciate  the  beauty  of  the  winter 
or  the  moonlight  when  they  roused  me  at  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning  at  Manchuria  because  my  luggage 


14  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

had  to  be  examined  at  the  Chinese  Customs.  The 
scanty  lights  on  the  station,  the  silver  moon  in  the 
heaven  above  lit  up  the  platform  as  we  passengers 
of  the  train  de  luxe  made  our  way  to  the  baggage- 
room  along  a  path  between  heaped-up  frozen  snow 
and  ice,  and  the  difference  in  temperature  between 
that  station  platform  and  the  carriages  from  which 
the  hot  air  gushed  was  perhaps  one  hundred  degrees. 
The  reek  from  those  carriages  went  up  to  heaven, 
but  the  sudden  change  was  cruel. 

Our  pessimistic  old  soldier  wailed  loudest.  "  My 
God!  My  God!  this  is  unbearable!"  and  I  won- 
dered why,  because  on  his  way  through  the  world 
he  must  have  encountered  worse  things  than  bitter 
cold  that  has  only  to  be  borne  for  a  few  minutes. 
Probably  that  was  the  reason.  If  he  had  had 
something  really  hard  to  bear  he  would  very  likely 
have  said  nothing  about  it.  The  baggage-room  was 
confusion,  worse  confounded,  and  nobody  seemed 
to  know  what  was  being  looked  for,  opium,  or  arms 
or  both.  This  place  is  the  Port  Said  of  the  East, 
and  people  from  all  corners  of  the  earth  were 
gathered  round  their  belongings.  There  were 
groups  of  Chinese  with  women  and  children  and 
weird  bundles ;  there  were  the  very  latest  dressing- 
cases  and  despatch-boxes  from  Bond  Street  and 
Piccadilly;  there  was  a  babel  of  tongues,  Russian 
and  French  and  German  and  English  and  the 
unknown  tongues  of  Asia.  China,  China  at  last, 
and  I  was  within  two  days  of  my  destination. 

And  when  the  day  dawned  we  had  left  beautiful 
Siberia  behind,  and  instead  there  were  flat  lands, 
deserts  of  stones  and  dry  earth,  with  but  little  snow 
to  veil  the  apparent  barrenness,  and  hills  first  with 


s2 
5 


ACROSS    THE    OLD    WORLD        15 

scanty  trees,  but  growing  more  and  more  barren  as 
we  approached  Kharbin.  It  looked  desolate,  cold, 
uninviting.  The  land  may  be  rich,  it  is  I  am  told, 
but  when  I  passed  there  was  no  outward  sign  of  that 
richness;  the  covering  of  beautiful  white  was  gone, 
there  was  only  a  patch  or  two  of  snow  here  and 
there  in  the  hollows,  and  the  brilliant  sunshine  was 
like  gleams  of  light  on  steel.  At  Kharbin  they 
examined  our  baggage  again — why  I  know  not — 
and  again  it  was  chaos,  chaos  in  the  bitter  cold  with 
the  mercury  many  degrees  below  freezing-point 
and  screeching  demons  with  a  Mongolian  type  of 
countenance,  muffled  in  furs  and  rags  that  seemed 
the  cast-off  clothes  of  all  the  nations  of  the  earth, 
hauled  the  luggage  about,  pored  over  tickets  and 
made  entries  in  books  with  all  the  elaborate  effort  of 
the  unlearned,  and  finally  marked  the  unhappy  boxes 
with  great  sprawling  figures  in  tar  or  some  such 
compound. 

"Four  roubles,  twenty  kopecks."  Why  I  had  to 
pay  I  know  not,  that  was  beyond  me,  but  I  was  glad 
to  get  off  so  lightly,  for  had  they  seen  fit  to  ask  me 
one  hundred  roubles,  I  should  have  been  equally 
helpless.  I  was  thankful  to  get  out  of  the  cold  back 
to  my  warm  and  evil-smelling  coupe. 

And  at  Ch'ang  Ch'un  I  fairly  felt  I  had  crossed 
half  the  world,  and  the  oldest  old  world  greeted  me 
with  active  winter.  I  did  not  know  then,  as  I  do 
now,  how  wonderful  a  thing  is  a  snowstorm  in 
Northern  China.  Here  the  snow  was  falling,  fall- 
ing. We  had  left  behind  us  the  great  spaces  of  the 
earth,  and  come  back  to  agriculture.  Through  the 
whirling  snowflakes,  little  low-roofed  houses,  sur- 
rounded with  walls  of  stone  with  little  portholes  for 


16  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

guns — the  Japanese  block-houses,  for  Japan  holds 
Manchuria  by  force  of  arms — alternated  with  farm- 
houses, with  fences  of  high  yellow  millet  stalks. 
The  doors  were  marked  with  brilliant  red  paper  with 
inscriptions  in  Chinese  characters  upon  it — a  spot 
of  brightness  amidst  the  prevailing  white  that  lent 
tone  and  colour  to  the  picture. 

Here  it  was  that  the  Russians  and  the  sons  of 
Nippon  had  been  at  death-grips,  and  we  who  were 
in  this  train  realised  why  the  Eastern  nation  had 
won.  At  Kharbin  and  at  Manchuria,  with  things 
managed  by  Chinese,  reigned  confusion.  That  we 
ever  emerged  with  a  scrap  of  luggage  seemed  to  be 
more  by  good  luck  than  good  management.  From 
Ch'ang  Ch'un  to  Mukden  the  little  men  from  the 
islands  in  the  eastern  sea  run  the  railway,  and  they 
know  what  they  are  about;  everything  is  in  order, 
and  everything  marches  without  apparent  effort. 
They  bought  this  land  with  their  blood,  and  they 
are  holding  it  now  with  the  sure  grip  that  efficiency 
gives. 

At  Mukden  a  blizzard  was  raging,  and  the  old 
Tartar  City  was  veiled  in  snow.  When  the  snow 
went,  the  sunshine  was  bleak  and  bright,  and  every- 
where, far  as  the  eye  could  see,  stretched  tilled  fields, 
bare  of  every  green  thing.  Flatter  and  flatter  grew 
the  land.  It  was  half  ice  and  half  earth,  and  the 
little  sledges  that  were  hitherto  drawn  by  ponies 
were  now  drawn  by  men.  Once  we  had  left  behind 
the  Siberian  fir,  there  was  not  a  green  thing  to  be 
seen  all  the  way  to  Peking.  The  earth  of  the  fields 
was  streaked,  dark  brown  and  lighter  brown;  there 
were  bare  trees  with  their  promise  for  the  future ; 
and  once  we  were  in  China  proper,  there  were  the 


ACROSS    THE    OLD    WORLD        17 

graves — graves  solitary,  and  graves  in  clusters — 
just  neatly  kept  little  heaps  of  earth  piled  up  and 
pointed,  something  like  an  ant-hill.  The  air  was 
clear  and  sparkling,  the  outlook  was  wide.  We 
passed  town  after  town,  and  where  on  the  Siberian 
border  the  names  of  the  stations  were  in  Russian  and 
Chinese,  and  so  equally  unintelligible,  here  in  China 
they  were  in  English  and  Chinese. 

"  Do  you  like  China  ? "  I  asked  a  Frenchman  who 
sat  opposite  me  at  tiffin. 

"  No,"  said  he  frankly.  "  It  is  too  English."  But 
he  laughed  when  I  said  that  naturally  I  considered 
that  a  distinct  point  in  the  Chinaman's  favour. 

A  wind  rose,  and  it  was  as  if  the  brown  earth 
were  literally  lifted  into  the  air.  Everything  was 
smothered  in  a  dust  storm.  The  atmosphere  was 
heavy  as  a  London  fog,  a  fog  that  had  been  dried 
by  some  freezing  process.  The  air  was  full  of  dry 
brown  particles  that  shrivelled  the  skin,  and  parched 
the  lips,  and  made  me  weigh  in  my  mind  the  respec- 
tive merits  of  a  soft,  moist  air,  and  a  clear  and  spark- 
ling one.  I  had  left  London  in  a  yellow  fog  that 
veiled  the  tops  of  the  houses,  and  lent  an  air  of 
mystery  to  the  street  in  the  near  distance^  I  arrived 
at  Peking  in  a  typical  North  China  dust  storm.  We 
came  through  the  wall,  the  wall  of  the  Chinese  city, 
that  until  I  had  seen  the  Tartar  wall  looked  grey, 
and  grim,  and  stern,  and  solid,  and  I  wondered  at 
the  curved  tiled  roofs,  and  the  low  houses,  and  the 
great  bare  spaces  that  go  to  make  up  the  city. 

The  East  at  last,  the  Far  East!  All  across  the 
old  world  I  had  come ;  and  here  on  a  bitter  cold 
February  afternoon,  with  a  wild  wind  blowing,  the 
train  drew  up  outside  the  Tartar  wall,  the  wall  that 

B 


18  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

Kublai  Khan  and  the  Ming  Emperors  built  in  the 
capital  city  of  the  civilisation  that  was  old  when  the 
Roman  legions  planted  their  eagles  in  the  marshes 
of  the  Thames.  I  had  reached  China,  the  land  of 
blue  skies  and  of  sunshine ;  the  land  of  desperate 
poverty  and  of  wonderful  wealth ;  the  land  of 
triumph,  and  of  martyrdom,  and  of  mystery.  What 
was  it  going  to  hold  for  me  ? 


CHAPTER  II 

A    CITY    OF    THE    AGES 

Chien  Men  Railway  Station— Driver  Chow—"  Urgent  speed  in 
high  disdain  " — Peking  dust  storm — Joys  of  a  bath — The 
glories  of  Peking — The  Imperial  City — The  Forbidden  City 
— Memorial  arches — The  observatory — The  little  Tartar 
princess — Life  in  the  streets — Street  stalls — A  mercenary 
marriage — Courtly  gentlemen. 

I  LOOKED  out  of  the  carriage  window  as  the  train  ran 
through  the  Chinese  city  on  its  way  to  the  Chien 
Men  railway  station,  and  wondered  what  the  future 
was  going  to  be  like,  and  I  wondered  aloud. 

"How  will  I  get  on?" 

Opposite  me  sat  an  amusing  young  gentleman 
with  a  ready  tongue. 

"  Oh  you'll  be  all  right,"  said  he.  "  The  Chinese 

'11  like  you  because  you're  fat  and  o "  and  then 

he  checked  himself  seeing,  I  suppose,  the  dawning 
wrath  in  my  eyes.  The  Chinese  admire  fat  people 
and  they  respect  the  old,  but  I  had  not  been  accus- 
tomed to  looking  upon  myself  as  old  yet,  though  I 
had  certainly  seen  more  years  than  he  had,  and  as 
for  fat — well  I  had  fondly  hoped  my  friends  looked 
upon  it  as  a  pleasing  plumpness.  With  these 
chastening  remarks  sinking  into  my  soul,  we  rolled 
into  the  railway  station. 

The  railways  in  China,  with  a  few  exceptions, 
have  been  built  by  the  English  or  French— mostly 

19 


20  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

by  the  English — and  are  managed  to  a  great  extent 
on  European  lines,  so  that  arriving  at  the  railway 
station  in  Peking  does  not  differ  very  much  from 
arriving  at  any  other  great  terminus,  save  for  the 
absence  of  cabs ;  but  I  imagine  there  must  be  differ- 
ences, and  that  those  who  run  the  lines  have  little 
difficulties  to  contend  with  that  would  not  occur  on 
the  London  and  North  Western  for  example. 

"  DEAR  SIR," — wrote  a  stationmaster  once  to  the 
locomotive  superintendent — "  I  have,  with  many 
tears,  to  call  your  attention  to  your  driver,  Chow, 
who  holds  urgent  speed  in  high  disdain." 

The  locomotive  superintendent,  without  any 
tears,  investigated  the  charge  against  this  driver, 
Chow.  The  line  was  worked  on  the  staff  system. 
No  driver  could  leave  a  station  without  giving  up 
the  staff  he  had  brought  in,  and  receiving  the  corres- 
ponding one  for  the  next  stretch  of  line.  The  staff 
— to  follow  the  directions — is  to  be  handed  to  the 
driver  by  the  stationmaster,  but  the  stationmaster 
on  this,  and  I  expect  on  many  other  occasions,  for 
the  Chinese  are  past-masters  in  the  art  of  delegating 
work  to  someone  else,  had  handed  the  staff  to  a 
coolie  and  gone  about  his  pleasure.  Now  Chow 
evidently  had  a  grudge  against  him,  for,  I  fear  me, 
no  one  believed  in  his  altruism.  He  insisted  on  the 
strict  letter  of  the  law  and  declined  to  take  the  staff 
until  it  was  handed  to  him  by  the  important  man 
himself,  and  he  kept  the  whole  train  waiting,  while 
that  worthy  was  searched  for,  and  hauled  out  of  the 
particular  gambling-house  he  most  affected.  When 
the  gentleman  appeared,  furious  and  angry,  on  the 
platform,  Chow  calmly  lifted  up  his  staff  to  effect 


A   CITY   OF  THE   AGES  21 

an  exchange,  and  he  swore  on  investigation  he  had 
forgotten  that  the  end  the  stationmaster  received 
had  been  reposing  for  all  the  long  wait  upon  the 
nearly  red-hot  boiler !  That  the  stationmaster  burnt 
his  fingers  is  a  mild  statement  of  the  case. 

There  was  a  wild  wind  blowing  when  I  stepped 
out  of  the  train  and  looked  around  me  at  the  frown- 
ing walls,  at  least  I  looked  as  much  as  I  could,  for 
the  day  was  bitterly  cold,  and  most  of  the  ground 
was  in  the  air.  A  London  fog  was  nothing  to  it, 
that  is  soft  and  still  and  filthy,  this  was  hard  and 
gritty,  moving  fast  and  equally  filthy,  and  every 
one  of  the  passengers  was  desperately  anxious  to 
exchange  the  bleak  railway  station  for  the  warmth 
and  comfort  and  cleanliness  to  be  found  between 
four  walls. 

I  was  just  as  anxious  as  anybody  else,  but  by  the 
time  I  had  collected  my  luggage  the  awful  facts 
were  borne  in  on  me  that  all  the  people  with  whom 
I  had  made  friends  on  the  way  across,  were  rapidly 
departing,  and  that  there  was  no  one  to  meet  me. 
Peking  was  wonderful,  I  knew  it  was  wonderful ; 
there  were  such  walls  as  I  had  never  even  dreamt  of, 
towering  above  me,  but  I  was  not  able  to  rise  above 
the  fact  that  I  was  in  a  strange  city,  among  quaint- 
looking  people  who  spoke  an  unknown  tongue,  and 
that  I  did  not  know  where  to  go.  And  the  Morri- 
sons' invitation  had  been  most  cordial.  I  had 
rejected  all  offers  of  help,  because  I  was  so  sure 
someone  from  their  house  would  be  there  to  meet 
me,  now  I  seized  the  last  remaining  passenger  who 
could  speak  a  little  Chinese,  and,  with  his  help,  got 
a  hand-cart  for  my  gear,  drawn  by  two  ragged  men, 
and  a  rickshaw  for  myself — this  man  haulage,  this 


22  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

cheapness  of  human  labour,  made  me  realise  more 
quickly  than  anything  else  could  have  done,  that  I 
had  really  arrived  in  the  Eastern  world — and  after 
a  little  debate  with  myself  I  started  for  Dr  Morri- 
son's. I  had  been  asked  to  stay  there,  and  I  felt  it 
would  be  rude  to  go  to  the  hotel,  but  as  we  drove 
through  the  streets  I  thought — as  much  as  the  dust, 
the  filthy  dust — that  the  violent  gusts  of  wind  were 
blowing  in  my  face  would  allow — not  of  the  wonders 
of  this  new  world  upon  which  I  was  entering,  but 
of  how  I  should  announce  myself  to  these  people 
who  apparently  were  not  expecting  me.  I  had  such 
a  lot  of  luggage  too! 

At  last  the  coolies  stopped  opposite  a  door 
guarded  by  two  stone  lions,  and  as  I  got  out  of 
my  rickshaw,  entered  the  porch,  and  stood  outside 
a  little  green  wicket  gate,  the  doorkeeper  stepped 
out  of  his  room  and  looked  at  me.  He  was  clad  all 
in  blue  cotton  and  he  had  an  impassive  face  and 
just  enough  English  for  a  doorkeeper. 

No,  Missie  was  not  at  home,  he  announced  calmly. 
"Master?"  I  asked  frantically,  but  he  shook  his 
head,  Master  was  out  too.  Here  was  a  dilemma. 
I  would  have  gone  straight  to  the  hotel  I  had 
discovered  Peking  boasted,  but  I  feared  they  might 
think  it  rude.  I  made  him  understand  I  would 
come  in  and  wait  a  little,  and  my  luggage,  my 
dilapidated  luggage,  for  Kharbin  and  Manchuria 
had  been  hard  on  it,  was  carried  into  the  courtyard 
of  the  first  Chinese  house  I  had  ever  seen.  But  I 
wasn't  thinking  of  sight-seeing  then ;  I  was  wonder- 
ing what  I  should  do.  I  questioned  the  No.  i  boy, 
as  I  subsequently  found  he  was,  a  pleasant-faced 
little  man  in  a  long  blue  coat  or  dress,  whichever 


GUARD-HOUSE  IN  IMPERIAL  CITY. 


A    WALL   AND   GATE   OF   THE   IMPERIAL    CITY 


A   CITY   OF  THE   AGES  23 

you  please  to  call  it,  and  a  little  round  silk  cap 
suppressing  his  somewhat  wild  hair.  I  learned 
afterwards  that  some  students,  enthusiastic  for  the 
new  regime,  had  caught  him  the  day  before  and 
shorn  off  his  queue  with  no  skilful  hands.  It  was 
his  opinion  that  Missie  was  not  expecting  a  guest, 
but  he  suggested  I  should  come  inside  and  have 
some  tea.  The  thought  of  tea  was  distinctly  com- 
forting, and  so  was  his  attitude.  It  suggested  that 
unexpected  guests  were  evidently  received  with 
hospitality,  and  dirty  as  I  felt  myself  to  be,  I  went 
in  and  sat  down  to  a  meal  of  tea  and  cakes. 

"  I  makee  room  ready  chop  chop,"  announced  the 
boy,  and  I  drank  tea  and  ate  cakes,  wondering 
whether  I  ought  not  to  stop  him,  and  say  he  had 
better  wait  till  his  mistress  came  home.  And  I  felt 
so  horribly  dirty,  too.  Then  there  came  in  a  lady 
who  also  looked  at  me  with  surprise. 

She  had  come  to  tea  with  Mrs  Morrison,  and  she 
was  quite  sure  Mrs  Morrison  was  expecting  no 
guest.  This  was  awful.  I  became  so  desperate 
that  nothing  seemed  to  matter,  and  I  went  on  eating 
cake  and  drinking  tea  till  presently  the  No.  i  boy 
came  in  again,  and  calmly  announced: 

"  Barf  ready." 

And  I  had  just  been  told  that  my  hostess  did  not 
expect  me! 

I  looked  at  the  lady  sitting  opposite  me,  I  looked 
at  the  boy,  and  I  considered  my  very  dirty  and 
dishevelled  self.  I  had  not  even  seen  a  bath  since 
I  left  Moscow.  I  had  come  through  the  Peking 
streets  in  a  Peking  dust  storm,  and  I  felt  a  bath  was 
a  temptation  not  to  be  resisted,  wherever  that  bath 
was  offered;  so  I  arose  and  followed  the  boy,  and 


24  A  WOMAN   IN  CHINA 

presently  Mrs  Morrison,  coming  into  her  own  court- 
yard, was  confronted  by  a  heap  of  strange  luggage, 
and  a  boy  standing  over  it  with  a  feather  duster,  no 
mere  feather  duster  could  have  coped  with  the  dirt 
upon  it,  but  a  Chinese  servant  would  attack  a  hornet's 
nest  with  one ;  it  is  his  badge  of  office.  He  looked 
up  at  her  and  remarked,  in  that  friendly  and  con- 
versational manner  with  which  the  Chinese  servant 
makes  the  wheels  of  life  go  smoothly  for  his  Missie 
when  he  has  her  alone. 

"  One  piecey  gentleman  in  barf !  " 

She  came  and  knocked  at  the  bedroom  door 
when  I  was  doing  my  hair  and  feeling  much  more 
able  to  face  the  world,  and  made  me  most  cordially 
welcome,  and,  when  I  was  fully  dressed  and  back 
in  the  drawing-room,  Dr  Morrison  appeared,  and 
said  he  was  glad  to  see  me,  and  no  one  mentioned 
that  my  arrival  had  been  unexpected,  till  a  week 
later,  when  the  letter  I  had  written  saying  by  what 
train  I  was  coming,  turned  up. 

I  stayed  with  Dr  Morrison  and  his  pretty  young 
wife  for  close  on  a  fortnight,  and  they  gave  me  most 
kindly  hospitality,  and  not  only  did  I  view  the 
wonders  of  Peking,  make  some  acquaintances  and 
friends,  but  saw  just  a  little  of  the  peculiarities  of 
Chinese  servants.  They  are  good,  there  is  no 
gainsaying  it,  but  sometimes  they  did  surprise  me. 
Dr  Morrison  has  a  secretary,  young  and  slim  and 
clever,  who  in  the  early  days  of  our  acquaintance- 
ship was  wont  very  kindly  to  come  over  and  help 
me  in  the  important  matter  of  fastening  up  dresses 
at  the  back.  One  evening,  being  greatly  in  need  of 
her  assistance,  I  sent  across  the  courtyard  to  her, 
and  the  startled  young  lady  was  calmly  informed  by 


A   CITY   OF  THE   AGES  25 

a  bland  and  smiling  boy  as  if  it  were  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world: 

"  One  piecey  gentleman  wanchee  in  he's 
bedroom." 

At  first  I  don't  think  I  appreciated  Peking.  It 
left  me  cold,  and  my  heart  sank,  for  I  had  come  to 
write  about  it,  to  gain  material  perhaps  for  a  novel, 
and  this  most  certainly  is  a  truth,  you  cannot  write 
well  about  a  place  unless  you  either  love  or  hate  it. 
Still,  I  have  always  had  a  great  distaste  for  dashing 
through  a  country  like  an  American  tourist,  and  so 
I  settled  down  at  the  Wagons  Lits  Hotel,  surely  the 
most  cosmopolitan  hotel  in  the  world. 

And  then  by  slow  degrees  my  eyes  were  opened, 
and  I  saw.  Blind,  blind,  how  could  I  have  been 
so  blind  ?  It  makes  me  troubled.  Have  other  good 
things  been  offered  me  in  life?  And  have  I  turned 
away  and  missed  them?  The  wonder  of  what  I 
have  seen  in  Peking  never  palls,  it  grows  upon  me 
daily. 

"Walk  about  Zion  and  go  round  about  her  .  .  . 
consider  her  palaces  that  ye  may  tell  it  to  the 
generation  following."  So  chanted  the  psalmist, 
not  so  much,  perhaps,  for  the  sake  of  future  genera- 
tions, but  because  her  beauty  and  charm  so  filled 
his  soul  that  his  lips  were  forced  to  song.  "Tell 
the  towers  thereof,  mark  ye  well  her  bulwarks." 
Far  back  in  the  ages,  a  nation  great  and  civilised  on 
the  eastern  edge  of  the  plain  that  stretches  half 
across  the  world,  builded  themselves  a  mighty  city. 
Peking  first  came  into  being  when  we  Western 
nations,  who  pride  ourselves  upon  our  intense 
civilisation,  were  but  naked  savages,  hunters  and 
nomads,  and  she,  spoiled  and  sacked  and  looted, 


26  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

taking  fresh  masters,  and  absorbing  them,  Chinese 
and  Tartar,  Ming  and  Manchu,  has  endured  even 
unto  the  present  day.  To-day,  the  spirit  of  the 
West  is  breathing  over  her  and  she  responds  a  little, 
ever  so  little,  and  murmurs  of  change,  yet  she 
remains  the  same  at  heart  as  she  has  been  through 
the  ages.  How  should  she  change?  She  is 
wedded  to  her  past,  she  can  no  more  be  divorced 
from  it  than  can  the  morning  from  the  evening. 

There  is  something  wonderful  and  antique  about 
any  walled  city,  but  a  walled  city  like  Peking  stands 
alone.  The  very  modern  railway  comes  into  the 
Chinese  City  through  an  archway  in  the  wall,  and 
the  railway  station,  the  hideous  modern  railway 
station,  lies  just  outside  the  great  wall  of  the  Tartar 
City.  There  are  three  cities  in  Peking,  indeed  for 
the  last  few  years  there  have  been  four — four 
distinct  cities.  There  is  the  Imperial  City,  enclosed 
in  seven  miles  of  pinkish  red  wall,  close  on  twenty 
feet  high,  and  in  the  Imperial  City,  the  very  heart 
of  it,  behind  more  pinkish  red  walls,  is  the  For- 
bidden City,  where  dwell  the  remnant  of  the  Manchu 
Dynasty,  the  baby  emperor  and  his  guardians,  the 
women,  the  eunuchs,  the  attendants  that  make  up 
such  a  gathering  as  waited  in  bygone  days  on  Darius, 
King  of  the  Medes,  or  Ahasuerus,  King  of  Babylon. 
Here  there  are  spacious  courtyards  and  ancient 
temples  and  palaces,  and  audience  halls  with 
yellowish-brown  tiled  roofs,  extensive  lakes,  where 
multitudes  of  wild  duck,  flying  north  for  the  summer, 
or  south  for  the  winter,  find  a  resting-place,  watch- 
towers  and  walls,  and  tunnelled  gateways  through 
those  walls.  When  through  the  ages  the  greatest 
artists  of  a  nation  have  been  giving  their  minds  to 


A   CITY   OF  THE   AGES  27 

the  beautifying  of  a  city,  the  things  of  beauty  in  that 
city  are  so  numerous  that  it  seems  impossible  for 
one  mind  to  grasp  them,  to  realise  the  wonder  and 
the  charm,  especially  when  that  charm  is  exotic  and 
evasive. 

The  Imperial  City,  all  round  the  Forbidden  City, 
consists  of  a  network  of  narrow  streets  and  alleys 
lined  with  low  buildings  with  windows  of  delicate 
lattice-work,  and  curved  tiled  roofs.  Here,  hidden 
away  in  silent  peaceful  courtyards  shaded  by  gnarled 
old  trees,  are  temples  guarded  by  shaven  priests 
in  faded  red  robes.  Their  hangings  are  torn  and 
faded,  the  dust  lies  on  their  altars,  and  the  scent  of 
the  incense  is  stale  in  their  courts,  for  the  gods  are 
dead ;  and  yet  because  the  dead  are  never  forgotten 
in  China — China  that  clings  to  her  past — they  linger 
on.  Here  are  shops,  low  one-storied  shops,  with 
fronts  richly  carved  and  gilded,  streets  deep  in  mud 
or  dust,  narrow  alley-ways  and  high  walls  with 
mysterious  little  doors  in  them  leading  into  secluded 
houses,  and  all  the  clatter  and  clamour  of  a  Chinese 
city,  laden  donkeys,  mules  and  horses,  rickshaws 
from  Japan,  glass  broughams  weirdly  reflecting  the 
glory  of  modern  London,  and  blue,  tilted  Peking 
carts  with  studded  wheels,  such  as  have  been  part 
and  parcel  of  the  Imperial  City  for  thousands  of 
years,  all  the  life  of  the  city  much  as  it  is  outside 
the  pinkish  red  walls,  only  here  and  there  are  carved 
pillars  and  broad  causeways  that,  if  the  stones  could 
speak,  might  tell  a  tale  of  human  woe  and  human 
weariness,  of  joy  and  magnificence,  that  would 
surpass  any  told  of  any  city  in  the  world. 

And  outside  the  Imperial  City,  hemming  it  in,  in 
a  great  square  fourteen  miles  round,  is  the  Tartar 


28  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

City  with  splendid  walls.  Outside  that  again,  form- 
ing a  sort  of  suburb,  lies  to  the  south  the  Chinese 
City  with  thirteen  miles  of  wall  enclosing  not  only 
its  teeming  population,  but  the  great  open  spaces 
and  parks  of  the  Temple  of  Heaven  and  the  Temple 
of  Agriculture.  But  though  the  Tartar  City  and 
the  Chinese  City  are  distinct  divisions  of  Peking, 
walled  off  from  each  other,  all  difference  between 
the  people  has  long  ago  disappeared.  The  Tartars 
conquered  the  Chinese,  and  the  Chinese,  patient, 
industrious,  persistent,  drew  the  Tartars  to  them- 
selves. But  still  the  walls  that  divided  them  endure. 

The  Tartar  City  is  crossed  by  broad  highways 
cutting  each  other  at  right  angles,  three  run  north 
and  south,  and  three  run  east  and  west,  they  are 
broad  and  are  usually  divided  into  three  parts,  the 
centre  part  being  a  good,  hard,  well-tended  road- 
way, while  on  either  side  the  soil  is  loose,  and  since 
the  streets  are  thronged,  the  side  ways  are  churned 
up  in  the  summer  into  a  slough  that  requires  some 
daring  to  cross,  and  in  the  winter — the  dry,  cold 
rainless  winter,  the  soil  is  ground  into  a  powdery 
dust  that  the  faintest  breeze  raises  into  the  air,  and 
many  of  the  breezes  of  Northern  China  are  by  no 
means  faint.  The  authorities  try  to  grapple  with 
the  evil — at  regular  intervals  are  stationed  a  couple 
of  men  with  a  pail  of  muddy  water,  which  with  a 
basket-work  scoop  they  distribute  lavishly  in  order 
to  try  and  keep  down  the  rising  dust.  But  the  dust 
of  Peking  is  a  problem  beyond  a  mere  pail  and 
scoop.  This  spattering  of  water  has  about  as  much 
effect  upon  it  as  a  thimbleful  of  water  flung  on  a 
raging  fiery  furnace. 

Still,  in  spite  of  the  mud  and  the  dust,  the  streets 


WATERING    STREETS,    PEKING. 


ASTRONOMICAL   INSTRUMENTS. 


A   CITY   OF  THE   AGES  29 

are  not  without  charm.  They  are  lined  with  trees ; 
indeed  I  think  no  city  of  its  size  was  ever  b.etter 
planted.  When  once  one  has  realised  how  treeless 
is  the  greater  part  of  China,  this  is  rather  surprising. 
For  look  which  way  you  will  from  the  wall  in  the 
summer  and  autumn,  you  feel  you  might  be  looking 
down  upon  a  wood  instead  of  a  city ;  the  roofs  of  the 
single-storied  houses  are  hidden  by  the  greenery, 
and  only  here  and  there  peeps  out  the  tiled  roof  of 
a  temple  or  hall  of  audience  with  the  eaves  curving 
upwards,  things  of  beauty  against  the  background 
of  green  branches.  Curiously  enough  it  is  only 
from  the  walls  that  Peking  has  this  aspect.  Once 
in  the  network  of  alley-ways  it  seems  as  if  a  wilder- 
ness of  houses  and  shops  were  crowding  one  on  top 
of  the  other,  as  if  humanity  were  crushing  out  every 
sign  of  green  life.  This  is  because  there  is  to  all 
things  Chinese  two  sides.  There  is  the  life  of 
the  streets,  mud-begrimed,  dusty,  seething  with 
humanity,  odoriferous,  ragged,  dirty,  patient,  hard- 
working; and  there  is  a  hidden  life  shut  away  in 
those  networks  of  narrow  alley-ways. 

There  is  many  a  gateway  between  two  gilded 
shop  fronts,  some  black  Chinese  characters  on  a  red 
background  set  out  the  owner's  name  and  titles, 
and,  passing  through,  you  are  straightway  admitted 
irtfo  courtyard  after  courtyard,  some  planted  with 
trees,  some  with  flowering  plants  in  pots — because 
of  the  cruel  winter  all  Chinese  gardens  in  the  north 
here  are  in  pots,  sometimes  with  fruit-trees  thick 
with  blossom  or  heavy  with  fruit,  and  in  the  paved 
courtyards,  secluded,  retired  as  a  convent,  you  find 
the  various  apartments  of  a  well-arranged  Chinese 
house ;  there  are  shady  verandas,  and  dainty  lattice- 


80  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

work  windows  looking  out  upon  miniature  land- 
scapes with  little  hills  and  streams  and  graceful 
bridges  crossing  the  streams.  But  only  a  favoured 
few  may  see  these  oases.  For  the  majority  Peking 
must  be  the  wide-open  boulevards  and  narrow  hu 
t'ungs,  fronted  by  low  and  highly  ornamental  houses, 
and  shops  so  close  together  that  there  is  no  more 
room  for  a  garden  or  growing  green  life  than  there 
is  in  Piccadilly.  True  there  are  trees  in  these 
boulevards,  in  Morrison  Street,  in  Ha  Ta  Men 
Street,  in  the  street  of  Eternal  Repose  that  cuts 
them  at  right  angles,  but  they  would  be  but  small 
things  in  the  mass  of  buildings  were  it  not  for  the 
courtyards  of  the  private  houses  and  temples  that 
are  hidden  behind. 

There  are,  too,  in  the  streets  p'ia  lous  or  memorial 
arches,  generally  of  three  archways  with  tiled  roofs 
of  blue  or  green  or  yellow  rising  in  tiers  one  above 
the  other,  put  up  in  memory  of  some  deed  the 
Chinese  delight  to  honour.  And  what  the  Chinese 
think  worthy  of  honour,  and  what  the  Westerner 
delights  to  honour  are  generally  as  far  apart,  I  find, 
as  the  Poles.  In  Ha  Ta  Men  Street,  however, 
there  is  a  p'ia  lou  all  of  white  marble,  put  up  by  the 
last  Manchu  Emperor  in  memory  of  gallant  Baron 
von  Kettler,  done  to  death  in  the  Boxer  rising,  but 
there,  I  am  afraid,  Chinese  appreciation  was 
quickened  by  European  force. 

We  are  apt  to  think  that  European  influence  in 
China  is  quite  a  thing  of  yesterday,  that  Baron  von 
Kettler  was  the  first  man  of  note  who  perished  in 
the  inevitable  conflict,  and  yet,  when  I  looked  at 
the  eastern  wall  of  the  city,  I  was  reminded,  with 
a  start,  that  European  influence  dates  long  before 


A   CITY   OF   THE    AGES  31 

the  Boxer  time,  long  before  the  days  of  the  Honour- 
able East  India  Company,  and  many  must  have 
been  the  martyrs.  There  on  the  eastern  wall 
stands  the  observatory,  and  clear-cut  against  the 
bright  blue  sky  are  astronomical  instruments  with 
dragons  and  strange  beasts  upon  them.  They  wer£ 
placed  there  by  the  Jesuits  in  the  middle  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  and  I  know  that  those  priests 
could  not  have  attained  so  much  influence  without  a 
bitter  baptism  of  blood.  They  stand  out  as  land- 
marks, those  orbs  and  astrolabes,  up  and  down  the 
wall,  even  as  they  have  come  down  through  the 
centuries ;  monuments,  as  enduring  as  any  Chinese 
p'ia  lou,  of  faith  and  suffering ;  but  the  Jesuits  were 
not  the  first  to  place  astronomical  instruments  there. 
The  Chinese  were  not  barbarians  by  any  means, 
though  by  some  curious  freak  we  Westerners  have 
passed  them  in  the  race  for  civilisation,  and,  as  long 
ago  as  the  days  of  Kublai  Khan,  they  had  an  obser- 
vatory here  by  the  wall.  On  the  ground  below,  in  a 
tree-shaded  courtyard,  there  is  an  astrolabe  with  a 
beautiful  bronze  dragon  for  a  stand,  the  dust-laden 
air  of  Peking  has  polished  and  preserved  it,  so  that 
I  can  see  but  little  difference  between  it  and  the 
newer  instruments  on  the  platform  above — newer 
and  yet  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  old. 

And  beyond  the  observatory  in  the  north-east 
corner  of  the  city  is  the  Lama  Temple,  a  temple 
with  picturesque,  yellowish-brown  tiled  roofs  and 
spacious  courtyards,  in  which  are  quaint  old  gnarled 
trees,  and  building  after  building  in  that  curious 
state  that  is  part  beautiful,  part  slovenly  decay, 
ruled  over  by  hundreds  of  shaven,  yellow-robed 
monks  among  whom,  they  say,  it  is  not  safe  for  a 


32  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

woman  to  go  by  herself.  There  is  the  Temple  of 
Confucius,  with  surely  the  most  peaceful  courtyard 
in  the  world,  and  there  are  other  temples,  temples 
with  courtyards  and  weird,  twisted  coniferous  trees 
in  them  that  are  hundreds  of  years  old,  pagodas, 
and  bells,  and  towers,  and  to  each  and  all  is  attached 
many  a  story. 

Overlooking  the  great  causeway  that  runs  along 
in  front  of  the  Forbidden  City,  west  past  the  south 
main  gate,  are  two  towers,  one  to  the  north  in  the 
Forbidden  City,  and  one  to  the  south  without  its 
walls ;  and  of  these  two  towers  they  tell  a  story  of 
tenderness  and  longing.  Hundreds  of  years  ago, 
when  the  Tartars  were  first  subject  to  the  Ming 
Emperors,  part  of  their  tribute  had  to  be  one  of  their 
fairest  princesses,  who  became  a  member  of  the 
Emperor's  harem. 

The  poor  little  girl's  inclinations  were  not  con- 
sidered, not  even  now  is  the  desire  of  a  woman 
considered  in  China,  and  the  little  Tartar  girl  was 
bound  to  suffer  for  her  people.  She  might  or  might 
not  please  the  Emperor,  but  whether  she  did  or  not 
the  position  of  one  who  might  share  the  Emperor's 
bed  was  so  high  that  she  might  never  again  hold 
communion  with  her  own  kin.  And  then  there 
came  one  little  Tartar  princess,  who,  finding  favour 
with  her  lord,  summoned  courage  to  tell  him  of  her 
love  and  longing.  But  there  are  some  rules  that 
not  even  the  mighty  Emperor  of  China  may  abro- 
gate, and  he  could  not  permit  her  ever  again  to 
mingle  with  the  common  herd.  One  thing  only 
could  he  do,  and  that  he  did.  He  built  the  northern 
tower  looking  over  the  causeway,  and  the  southern 
tower  on  the  other  side.  On  the  one  tower  the  poor 


A   CITY   OF  THE   AGES  33 

little  secondary  wife,  lonely  and  weighted  by  her 
high  estate,  might  stand  so  that  she  could  see  her 
people  on  the  other,  and,  though  they  were  too  far 
apart  for  caress  or  spoken  word,  at  least  they  could 
see  each  other  and  know  that  all  was  well. 

I  do  not  know  whether  many  of  the  people  who 
throng  the  streets  from  morning  to  night,  and  long 
after  night  has  fallen,  ever  give  a  thought  to  the 
little  Tartar  princess.  The  shops,  most  of  them 
open  to  the  streets,  are  full,  and  on  two  sides  of  the 
main  roadways  are  set  up  little  stalls  for  the  sale  of 
trifles.  Curiously  enough,  and  I  suppose  it  denotes 
poverty  and  lack  of  home  life,  about  half  these  stalls 
are  given  up  to  the  cooking  and  selling  of  eatables. 
In  Ha  Ta  Men  Street,  in  Morrison  Street,  in  the 
street  of  Eternal  Repose,  that  is  as  if  we  should 
say  in  Piccadilly,  in  Regent  Street,  and  the  Hay- 
market,  and  just  outside  the  gates  in  the  Chinese 
City,  on  the  path  that  runs  between  the  canal  and 
the  Tartar  wall,  you  may  see  these  same  little  stalls. 

Here  is  a  man  who  sells  tea,  keeping  his  samovar 
boiling  with  shovelfuls  of  little  round  hard  nodules, 
coal  dust  made  up  with  damp  clay  into  balls ;  here 
is  another  with  a  small  frying-pan  in  which  he  is 
baking  great  slabs  of  wheaten  flour  cakes,  and 
selling  them  hot  out  of  the  pan ;  here  is  another  with 
an  earthenware  dish  full  of  an  appetising-looking 
stew  of  meat  and  vegetables,  with  a  hard-boiled  egg 
or  two  floating  on  top ;  another  man  has  big  yellow 
slabs  of  cake  with  great  plums  in  them,  another  has 
sticks  of  apples  and  all  manner  of  fruits  and  vege- 
tables done  into  sweetmeats.  And  here  as  it  is 
cooked,  alfresco,  do  the  people,  the  men,  for  women 
are  seldom  seen  at  the  stalls,  come  and  buy,  and 

c 


84  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

eat,  without  other  equipment  than  a  basin,  a  pair  of 
chop  sticks  or  a  bone  spoon  like  a  ladle  supplied  by 
the  vendor. 

They  sell,  and  make,  and  mend  Chinese  footgear 
at  these  stalls  too ;  there  is  a  fortune-teller,  one  who 
will  read  your  future  with  a  chart  covered  with  hiero- 
glyphics spread  out  on  the  bare  ground;  there  is 
the  letter-writer  for  the  unlearned;  there  are  primi- 
tive little  gaming-tables ;  and  there  are  cheap,  very 
cheap  cigarettes  and  tobacco  of  brands  unknown  in 
America  or  Egypt. 

I  have  said  there  is  a  lack  of  home  life,  and 
thought,  like  the  arrogant  Westerner  I  am,  that  the 
Chinese  do  not  appreciate  it,  but  only  the  other  day 
I  heard  a  little  story  that  made  me  think  that  the 
son  of  Han,  like  everyone  else,  longs  for  a  home 
and  someone  in  it  he  can  call  his  very  own. 

One  day  a  missionary  teacher  heard  an  outcry 
behind  her,  and  turning,  saw  a  blind  woman, 
unkempt  and  filthy  and  whining  pitifully.  "  Oh  who 
will  help  me  ?  Who  will  help  me  ? "  she  cried, 
shrinking  away  from  the  dog  that  was  making  dashes 
at  the  basket  she  carried  for  doles. 

The  missionary  called  off  her  dog,  and  reassured 
the  woman.  The  dog  would  not  hurt  her.  He  was 
only  interested  in  the  food  in  her  basket.  "Then," 
said  she,  "  I  went  on,  because  I  was  in  a  hurry,  but 
as  I  went  I  thought  how  horrible  the  woman  looked, 
and  that  I  ought  to  go  back  and  tell  her,  'God  is 
Love/" 

So  the  missionary  stopped  and  talked  religion  to 
that  blind  beggar,  and  told  her  to  come  up  to  the 
Mission  Station.  She  looked  after  her  soul,  but 
also,  out  of  the  kindness  of  her  heart,  she  looked 


A   CITY   OF  THE    AGES  85 

after  her  body,  and  when  the  beggar  was  established, 
a  woman  of  means  with  a  whole  dollar — two  shillings 
— a  week,  she  realised  that  God  was  indeed  Love, 
and  became  a  fervent  Christian. 

"Clean,"  I  asked,  being  of  an  inquiring  turn  of 
mind,  and  her  saviour  laughed. 

"  Perhaps  you  wouldn't  call  her  clean,  but  it  is  a 
vast  improvement  on  what  she  was." 

The  woman  wasn't  young,  as  Chinese  count  youth 
in  a  woman,  she  wasn't  good-looking,  she  wasn't  in 
any  way  attractive,  but  she  was  a  woman  of  means, 
and  presently  her  guardian  was  embarrassed  by  an 
offer  from  a  man  of  dim  sight,  for  the  hand  and 
heart  of  her  protegee.  The  missionary  was  horri- 
fied. The  woman  was  married  already.  The 
would-be  bridegroom,  the  prospective  bride,  and  all 
their  friends  smiled,  and  seemed  to  think  that  since 
her  last  alliance  wasn't  a  real  marriage  it  should  be 
no  bar.  Still  the  lady  was  firm,  the  woman  had 
lived  with  the  man  for  some  years  and  it  was  a 
marriage  in  her  humble  opinion.  So  the  dis- 
appointed candidates  for  matrimony  went  their  way. 
However,  a  few  weeks  later  the  woman  came  to  her 
guardian  with  a  face  wreathed  in  smiles,  "that 
thing,"  she  said,  she  didn't  even  call  him  a  man, 
that  thing  was  dead,  had  died  the  day  before,  and 
there  was  now  no  reason  why  she  should  not  marry 
again!  There  was  no  reason,  and  within  ten  days 
the  nuptials  were  celebrated,  and  the  blind  woman 
went  to  live  with  her  new  husband. 

I   asked   was   it   a    success   and   the    missionary 
smiled. 

"  Yes,  it  is  certainly  a  success,  only  her  husband 
complains  she  eats  too  much." 


86  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

I  said  there  were  always  drawbacks  when  a  man 
married  for  money ! 

But  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  marriage  was  a  great 
success.     I  saw  the  happy  couple  afterwards,  and 
the  woman  looked  well-cared  for  and  neat,  and  her 
husband  helped  her  up  some  steps  quite  as  carefully 
as  any  man  of  the  West  might  have  done.     Truly 
the  Fates  were  kind  to  the  blind  beggar  when  they 
put  her  in  the  way  of  that  missionary.     She  is  far, 
far  happier  probably  than  the  bride  of  a  higher  class 
who  goes  to  a  new  home,   and,  henceforward,   as 
long  as  the  older  woman  lives,  is  but  a  servant  to  her 
mother-in-law.     True  the  husband  had  complained 
his  new  wife  ate  too  much.     But  Chinese  etiquette 
does  not  seem  to  think  it  at  all  the  correct  thing  to 
praise   anything  that   belongs  to  one.     And  for  a 
husband  to  show  affection  for  his  wife,  whatever  he 
may  feel,  is  a  most  extraordinary  thing.     The  other 
day  a  woman  was  working  in  the  courtyard  of  a 
house  when  there  came  in  her  husband  who  had 
been  away  for  close  on  six  months.     Did  they  rush 
at  one  another  as  Westerners   would  have   done? 
Not  at  all.     He  crossed  the  courtyard  to  announce 
himself  to  his  master,   and  she  went  on  with  her 
work.     Each  carefully  refrained  from  looking  at  the 
other,  because  had  they  looked  people  might  have 
thought  they  cared  for  each  other.     And  it  is  in  the 
highest  degree  indelicate  for  a  husband  or  wife  to 
express  affection  for  each  other. 

In  truth,  once  my  eyes  were  opened,  I  soon  grew 
to  think  that,  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  sightseer, 
there  are  few  places  in  the  world  to  compare  with 
Peking,  and  the  greatest  interest  lies  in  the  people 
— the  crowded  humanity  of  the  streets.  Of  course 


IP 


GATE   ON   THE    WALL,    PEKING. 


THE  HA  TA  MEN  FROM  THE  WALL. 


A   CITY   OF  THE   AGES  87 

I  have  seen  crowded  humanity — after  London  how 
can  any  busy  city  present  any  novelty — and  yet, 
here  in  Peking,  a  new  note  is  struck.  Not  all  at 
once  did  I  realise  it;  my  mind  went  groping  round 
asking,  what  is  the  difference  between  these  people 
and  those  one  sees  in  the  streets  of  London  or 
Paris?  They  are  a  different  type,  but  that  is 
nothing,  it  is  only  skin  deep.  What  is  it  then? 
One  thing  cannot  but  strike  the  new-comer,  and 
that  is  that  they  are  a  peaceable  and  orderly  crowd, 
more  amenable  to  discipline,  or  rather  they  dis- 
cipline themselves  better,  than  any  crowd  in  the 
world.  Not  but  that  there  are  police.  At  every 
few  yards  the  police  of  the  New  Republic,  in  dusty 
black  bound  with  yellow  in  the  winter,  and  in  khaki 
in  the  summer,  with  swords  strapped  to  their  waists, 
direct  a  traffic  that  is  perfectly  capable  of  directing 
itself;  and  at  night,  armed  with  rifles,  mounted 
bands  of  them  patrol  the  streets,  the  most  law- 
abiding  streets  apparently  in  the  world.  In  spite  of 
the  -  swarms  of  tourists,  who  are  more  and  more 
pouring  into  Peking,  a  foreigner  is  still  a  thing  to 
be  wondered  at,  to  be  followed  and  stared  at;  but 
there  is  no  rudeness,  no  jostling.  He  has  only  to 
put  out  his  hand  to  intimate  to  the  following  crowd 
that  he  wishes  a  little  more  space,  that  their  com- 
pany is  a  little  too  odoriferous,  and  they  fall  back  at 
once,  only  to  press  forward  again  the  next  moment. 
Was  ever  there  such  a  kindly,  friendly  nation? 
And  yet — and  yet —  What  is  it  I  find  wrong? 
They  are  a  highly  civilised  people,  from  the  Presi- 
dent who  reigns  like  a  dictator,  to  the  humble 
rickshaw  coolie,  who  guards  my  dress  from  the  filth 
of  the  street.  He  will  hawk,  and  spit,  but  he  is  as 


88  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

courtly  a  gentleman  as  one  of  the  bucks  of  the 
Prince  Regent's  Court,  who  probably  did  much  the 
same  thing.  It  dawned  upon  me  slowly.  These 
people  have  achieved  that  refinement  we  of  the  West 
have  been  striving  for  and  have  not  attained  as  yet. 
It  is  well  surely  to  make  perfection  an  aim  in  life, 
and  yet  I  feel  something  has  gone  from  these  people 
in  the  process  of  refining.  Ninety-nine  times  out 
of  a  hundred  they  can  be  trusted  to  keep  order, 
and  the  hundredth  probably  not  all  the  police  in 
the  capital  could  hold  them.  The  very  rickshaw 
coolies,  when  they  fall  out,  trust  to  the  sweet  reason- 
ableness of  argument,  even  though  that  argument 
Waste  interminable  hours.  A  European,  an  English- 
man or  an  American  probably,  comes  hectoring  down 
the  street — no  other  word  describes  his  attitude, 
when  it  is  contrasted  with  that  of  the  courteous 
Orientals  round  him.  On  the  smallest  provocation, 
far  too  small  a  provocation,  he  threatens  to  kick  this 
coolie,  he  swings  that  one  out  of  the  way  and, 
instead  of  being  shocked,  I  am  distinctly  relieved. 
Here  is  an  exhibition  of  force,  restrained  force,  that 
is  welcome  as  a  rude  breeze,  fresh  from  the  sea  or 
the  mountains,  is  welcome  in  a  heated,  scented 
room.  These  people,  even  the  poorer  people  of 
the  streets,  are  suffering  from  over-civilisation,  from 
over-refinement.  They  need  a  touch  of  the  primi- 
tive savage  to  make  the  red  blood  run  in  their  veins. 
Not  but  that  they  can  be  savage,  so  savage  on 
occasion,  the  hundredth  occasion  when  no  police 
could  hold  them,  that  their  cruelty  is  such  that  there 
is  not  a  man  who  knows  them  who  would  not  keep 
the  last  cartridge  in  his  revolver  to  save  himself 
from  the  refinement  of  their  tender  mercies. 


A   CITY   OF  THE   AGES  89 

But  I  did  not  make  this  reflection  the  first,  or 
even  the  tenth  time,  I  walked  in  the  streets.  It  was 
a  thing  that  grew  upon  me  gradually.  By  the  time 
I  found  I  was  making  comparisons,  the  comparisons 
were  already  made  and  my  opinions  were  formed. 
I  looked  at  these  strange  men  and  women,  especially 
at  the  small-footed  women,  and  wondered  what  effect 
the  condemning  of  fifty  per  cent  of  the  population 
to  years  of  torture  had  had  upon  the  mental  growth 
of  this  nation,  and  I  raised  my  eyes  to  the  mighty 
walls  that  surrounded  the  city,  and  knew  that  the 
nation  had  done  wonderful  things. 


CHAPTER    III 

THE    WALLS    AND    GATES    OF    BABYLON 

The  mud  walls  of  Kublai  Khan — Only  place  for  a  comfortable 
promenade — The  gardens  on  the  walls — Guarding-  the  city 
from  devils— The  dirt  of  the  Chinese— The  gates— The 
camels — In  the  Chien  Men — The  patient  Chinese  women — 
The  joys  of  living  in  a  walled  city — A  change  in  Chinese 
feeling. 

ARE  they  like  the  walls  and  gates  of  Babylon,  I 
wonder,  these  walls  and  gates  of  the  capital  city  of 
China.  I  thought  so  when  first  I  saw  them,  and 
the  thought  remains  with  me  still.  Behind  such 
walls  as  these  surely  sat  Ahasuerus,  King  of  Baby- 
lon ;  behind  such  walls  as  these  dwelt  the  thousands 
of  serfs  who  toiled,  and  suffered,  and  died,  that  he 
might  be  a  mighty  king.  They  are  magnificent,  a 
wonder  of  the  world,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  the 
men  of  the  nation  who  built  them  must  glory  in  them. 
But  all  do  not.  I  sat  one  day  at  tiffin  at  a  friend's 
house,  and  opposite  me  sat  a  Chinese  doctor,  a 
graduate  of  Cambridge,  who  spoke  English  with 
the  leisurely  accent  of  the  cultivated  Englishman, 
and  he  spoke  of  these  mighty  walls. 

"  If  I  had  my  way,"  said  he,  "  they  should  be 
levelled  with  the  ground.  I  would  not  leave  one 
stone  upon  another."  And  I  wondered  why.  They 
shut  out  the  fresh  air,  he  said,  but  I  wondered,  in 
my  own  mind,  whether  he  did  not  feel  that  they 

40 


WALLS  AND  GATES  OF  BABYLON    41 

hemmed  the  people  in,  caged  and  held  them  as  it 
were,  in  an  archaic  state  of  civilisation,  that  it  is 
best  should  pass  away.  They  can  shut  out  so  little 
air,  and  they  can  only  cage  and  hold  those  who 
desire  to  be  so  held. 

Kublai  Khan  outlined  the  greater  part  of  them  in 
mud  in  the  thirteenth  century,  and  then,  two  hundred 
years  after,  came  the  Ming  conquerors  who  faced 
the  great  Tartar's  walls  with  grey  Chinese  brick, 
curtailing  them  a  little  to  the  north,  and  as  the 
Mings  left  them,  so  are  they  to-day  when  the  foreign 
nations  from  the  West,  and  that  other  Asiatic  nation 
from  the  East,  have  built  their  Legations — pledges 
of  peace — beneath  them  and,  armed  to  the  teeth, 
hold,  against  the  Chinese,  the  Legation  Quarter 
and  a  mile  of  their  own  wall. 

Over  fifty  feet  high  are  these  Tartar  walls,  at 
their  base  they  are  sixty  feet  through,  at  their  top 
they  are  between  forty  and  fifty  feet  across,  more 
than  a  hundred  if  you  measure  their  breadth  at  the 
great  buttresses,  and  they  are  paved  with  the  grey 
Chinese  bricks  that  face  their  sides.  As  in  most 
Chinese  cities,  the  top  of  the  wall  is  the  only  place 
where  a  comfortable  promenade  can  be  had,  and  the 
mile-long  strip  between  the  Chien  Men,  the  main 
gate,  and  the  Ha  Ta  Men,  the  south-eastern  gate 
— the  strip  held  by  the  Legations — is  well  kept ; 
that  is  to  say,  a  broad  pathway,  along  which  people 
can  walk,  is  kept  smooth  and  neat  and  free  from  the 
vegetation  that  flourishes  on  most  of  the  wall  top. 
This  vegetation  adds  greatly  to  its  charm.  The 
mud  of  the  walls  is  the  rich  alluvial  deposit  of 
the  great  plain  on  which  Peking  stands,  and  when 
it  has  been  well  watered  by  the  summer  rains,  a 


42  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

luxuriant  green  growth,  a  regular  jungle,  forces  its 
way  up  through  the  brick  pavement.  The  top  of  the 
wall  upon  a  cool  autumn  day,  before  the  finger  of 
decay  has  touched  this  growth,  is  a  truly  delightful 
garden. 

It  was  my  great  pleasure  to  walk  there,  for  there 
were  all  manner  of  flowering  green  shrubs  and  tall 
grasses,  bound  together  by  blooming  morning  glory, 
its  cup-shaped  flowers  blue,  and  pink,  and  white,  and 
white  streaked  with  pink;  there  were  even  small 
trees,  white  poplar  and  the  ailanthus,  or  tree  of 
heaven,  throwing  out  shady  branches  that  afforded 
shelter  from  the  rays  of  the  brilliant  sun.  They 
are  not  adequate  shelter,  though,  in  a  rainstorm. 
Indeed  it  is  very  awkward  to  be  caught  in  a  rain- 
storm upon  the  walls  out  of  the  range  of  the  rick- 
shaws, as  I  was  more  than  once,  for  in  the  hot 
weather  I  could  never  resist  the  walls,  the  only 
place  in  Peking  where  a  breath  of  fresh  air  is  to 
be  found,  and,  since  it  is  generally  hottest  before 
the  rain,  on  several  occasions  I  was  caught,  return- 
ing drenched  and  dripping.  It  did  not  matter  as  a 
rule,  but  once  when  I  was  there  with  a  companion 
a  more  than  ordinary  storm  caught  us.  We 
sheltered  under  an  ailanthus  tree,  and  as  the  wind 
was  strong,  umbrellas  were  useless.  My  com- 
panion began  to  get  agitated. 

"  If  this  goes  on,"  said  he,  "  I  shan't  be  able  to 
go  out  to-morrow.  I  have  only  one  coat."  He 
had  come  up  from  Tientsin  for  a  couple  of  days. 
But  for  me  the  case  was  much  more  serious.  I  had 
on  a  thin  white  muslin  that  began  to  cling  round  my 
figure,  and  I  thought  anxiously  that  if  it  went  on 
much  longer  I  should  not  be  able  to  go  into  the 


PATH  ON  TOP  OF   WALL,   PEKING. 


CATAPULT  STONES  ON  THE  WALL. 


WALLS  AND  GATES  OF  BABYLON    43 

hotel  that  day!  However,  the  rain  stopped  as  sud- 
denly as  it  had  begun,  the  sun  came  out  in  all  his 
fierceness,  and  before  we  reached  the  hotel  I  was 
most  unbecomingly  rough  dried. 

Things  are  ordered  on  the  Legation  wall,  the 
pathway  between  the  greenery  runs  straight  as  a  die, 
but  beyond,  on  the  thirteen  miles  of  wall  under 
Chinese  care,  the  greenery  runs  riot,  and  only  a 
narrow  pathway  meanders  between  the  shrubs  and 
grass,  just  as  a  man  may  walk  carelessly  from 
station  to  station ;  and  sometimes  hidden  among  the 
greenery,  sometimes  standing  out  against  it,  are 
here  and  there  great  upright  slabs  of  stone,  always 
in  pairs,  relics  of  the  old  fortifications,  for  surely 
these  are  all  that  remain  of  the  catapults  with  which 
of  old  the  Chinese  and  Tartars  defended  their 
mighty  city. 

The  walls  stand  square,  north  and  south,  and 
east  and  west,  only  at  the  north-west  corner  does 
the  line  slant  out  of  the  square  a  little,  for  every 
Chinese  knows  that  is  the  only  sure  way  to  keep 
devils  out  of  a  city,  and  certainly  the  capital  must 
be  so  guarded.  Whatever  I  saw  and  wondered  at, 
I  always  came  back  to  the  walls,  the  most  wonder- 
ful sight  of  a  most  wonderful  city,  and  I  always  found 
something  new  to  entrance  me.  The  watch-towers, 
the  ramps,  the  gates,  the  suggestion  of  old-world 
story  that  met  me  at  every  turn.  In  days  not  so 
very  long  ago  these  walls  were  kept  by  the  Manchu 
bannermen,  whose  special  duty  it  was  to  guard 
them,  and  no  other  person  was  allowed  upon  them, 
under  pain  of  death,  for  exactly  the  same  reason 
that  all  the  houses  in  the  city  are  of  one  story: 
it  was  not  seemly  that  any  mere  commoner  should 


44  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

be  able  to  look  down  upon  the  Emperor,  and  no 
women,  even  the  women  of  the  bannermen,  were 
allowed  to  set  foot  there,  for  it  appeared  that  the 
God  of  War,  who  naturally  took  an  interest  in  these 
defences,  objected  to  women. 

Now  little  companies  of  soldiers  take  the  place 
of  those  old-world  bannermen.  They  look  out  at 
the  life  of  the  city,  at  their  fellows  drilling  on  the 
great  plain  beyond,  at  the  muddy  canal,  that  is  like 
a  river,  making  its  way  across  the  khaki-coloured 
plain,  that  in  the  summer  is  one  vast  crop  of  kaoliang 
— one  vivid  note  of  green.  Wonderful  fertility  you 
may  see  from  the  walls  of  the  Chinese  capital. 
Looking  one  feels  that  the  rush  of  the  nations  to 
finance  the  country  is  more  than  justified.  Surely 
here  is  the  truest  of  wealth.  But  the  soldiers  on  the 
walls  are  children.  China  does  not  think  much  of 
her  soldiers,  and  the  language  is  full  of  proverbs 
about  them  the  reverse  of  complimentary.  "  Good 
iron  is  not  used  for  nails,"  is  one  of  them,  "  and  good 
men  do  not  become  soldiers."  How  true  that  may 
be  I  do  not  know,  but  these  men  seemed  good 
enough,  only  just  the  babies  a  fellow-countryman 
talking  of  them  to  me  once  called  them.  They 
know  little  of  their  own  country,  less  than  nothing 
of  any  other.  I  feel  they  should  not  be  dressed  in 
shabby  khaki  like  travesties  of  the  men  of  Western 
armies,  tunics  and  sandals  and  bows  and  arrows 
would  be  so  much  more  in  keeping  with  their  sur- 
roundings. And  yet  so  small  are  they,  like  ants  at 
the  foot  of  an  oak,  that  their  garb  scarcely  matters, 
they  but  emphasise  the  vastness  of  the  walls  on 
which  they  stand;  walls  builded  probably  by  men 
differing  but  little  from  these  soldiers  of  New  China. 


WALLS  AND  GATES  OF  BABYLON    45 

I  photographed  a  little  company  one  bright  day  in 
the  early  spring — it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  it  was 
bright,  because  all  days  at  that  season,  and  indeed 
at  most  seasons,  are  brilliantly,  translucently  bright. 
My  little  company  dwelt  in  a  low  building  made  up 
apparently  of  lattice-work  and  paper  close  to  the 
observatory,  and  evidently  word  went  round  that  the 
wonderful  thing  had  been  done,  and,  for  all  the 
charm  of  the  walls,  it  was  not  a  thing  that  was  often 
done.  I  suppose  the  average  tourist  does  not  care 
to  waste  his  plates  on  commonplace  little  soldiers  in 
badly  made  khaki.  When  next  I  appeared  with  the 
finished  picture  all  along  my  route  soldiers  came  and 
asked  courteously,  and  plainly,  for  all  I  knew  not 
one  word  of  their  tongue,  what  the  result  had  been. 
I  showed  them,  of  course,  and  my  following  grew  as 
I  passed  on.  They  knew  those  who  had  been 
taken,  which  was  lucky,  for  I  certainly  could  not  tell 
t'other  from  whichz  and,  when  I  arrived  at  their  little 
house,  smiling  claimants  stretched  out  eager  hands. 
I  knew  the  number  I  had  taken  and  I  had  a  copy 
apiece.  And  very  glad  I  was,  too,  when  they  all 
ranged  up  and  solemnly  saluted  me,  and  then  they 
brought  me  tea  in  their  handleless  cups,  and  I, 
unwashed  though  I  felt  those  cups  were,  drank  to 
our  good-fellowship  in  the  excellent  Chinese  tea 
that  needs  neither  sugar  nor  milk  to  make  it 
palatable. 

There  were  other  people,  too,  on  the  walls  in 
the  early  springtime,  coolies  clearing  away  the  dead 
growth  that  Bad  remained  over  from  the  past  summer. 
It  was  so  light  it  seemed  hardly  worth  gathering,  and 
those  gleaners  first  taught  me  to  realise  something 
of  the  poverty  of  China,  the  desperate  poverty  that 


46  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

dare  not  waste  so  much  as  a  handful  of  dead  grass. 
They  gathered  the  refuse  into  heaps,  tied  it  to  each 
end  of  their  bamboos,  and,  slinging  it  over  their 
shoulders,  trudged  with  it  down  one  of  the  ramps 
into  the  city.  Ever  and  again  in  my  peregrina- 
tions, I  would  come  across  one  of  them  sitting  in 
the  sun,  going  over  his  padded  coat  in  the  odd 
moments  he  could  spare  from  his  toil.  For  the 
lower-class  Chinese  understands  not  the  desira- 
bility of  water,  as  applied  either  to  himself  or  his 
clothes,  and,  as  he  certainly  never  changes  those 
clothes  while  one  shred  will  hold  to  another,  the 
moment  must  arrive,  sooner  or  later,  when  his  dis- 
comfort is  desperate,  and  something  must  be  done. 
He  is  like  the  wonks,  the  great  yellow  scavenger 
dogs  that  haunt  the  streets  of  Peking  and  all 
Chinese  cities,  he  sits  down  and  scratches  himself, 
and  goes  through  his  clothes.  At  least  that  was  my 
opinion.  A  friend  of  mine  who  had  served  for  some 
years  in  the  interior  with  the  great  company,  the 
British  and  American  Tcbacco  Company,  that,  with 
the  missionaries,  shares  the  honour  of  doing  pioneer 
work  in  China,  says  I  am  wrong,  Chinamen  don't 
mind  such  a  little  thing  as  that. 

"  Those  carters,"  said  he,  "  in  the  interior  as  it 
gets  colder  just  pile  one  garment  on  over  another, 
and  never  take  anything  off,  and  by  February — 
phew!  If  you  want  to  smell  a  tall  smell" — I  said 
I  didn't,  the  smells  of  Peking  were  quite  recondite 
enough  for  me — but  he  paid  no  attention — "you 
just  go  and  stand  over  the  k'ang  in  a  room  where 
five  or  six  of  them  are  crowded  together." 

And  the  carters,  it  seems,  are  highly  respectable, 
sometimes  well-to-do  men.  I  felt  I  had  a  lot  to 


SOLDIERS  ON  THE  WALL. 


CATAPULT  STONE  ON  THE  WALL. 


WALLS  AND  GATES  OF  BABYLON    47 

learn  about  the  Chinese,  these  men  whose  ancestors 
had  built  the  walls. 

Of  course  there  are  gates  in  the  walls,  nine  gates 
in  all  in  the  Tartar  City,  great  archways  with  iron- 
studded  doors  and  watch-towers  above.  I  count  it 
one  of  the  assets  of  my  life,  that  I  have  stood  under 
those  archways,  where  for  centuries  has  ebbed  and 
flowed  the  traffic  of  a  Babylonish  city,  old  world  still 
in  this  twentieth  century.  They  are  lighted  with 
electric  light  now,  instead  of  with  pitch-pine  torches, 
but  no  matter,  the  grey  stones  are  there. 

The  gate  of  a  city  like  Peking  is  a  great  affair. 

Over   every  archway  is    a   watch-tower,  with   tiled 

roofs  rising  tier  above  tier,  and  portholes  filled  with 

the  painted  muzzles  of  guns.     Painted  guns  in  the 

year  of  our  Lord  1914!     So  is  the  past  bound  up 

with  the  present  in  China !  And  these  are  not  entirely 

relics  of  the  past  like  the  catapult  stones.     In  the 

year   1900,    when   the   Boxers   looted   the    Chinese 

City,  and  the  Europeans  in  the  Legations  north  of 

the  Tartar  wall  trembled  for  their  lives,  the  looters 

burned  the  watch-tower  on  the  Chien  Men,  all  that 

was  burnable  of  it,  and,  when  peace  was  restored, 

the  Chinese  set  to  work  and  built  their  many-tiered 

watch-tower,   built  it  in  all  the  glory  of  red,  and 

green,  and  blue,  and  gold,  and  in  the  portholes  they 

put  the  same  painted  cannon  that  had  been  there  in 

past  ages,  not  only  to  strike  terror  into  the  enemy, 

but  also  to  impress  the  God  of  War  with  an  idea  of 

their  preparedness.     And  yet  there  was  hardly  any 

need  of  sham,  for  these  gateways  must  have  been 

formidable  things  to  negotiate  before  the  days  of 

heavy  artillery,  for  each  is  protected  by  a  curtain 

wall  as  high  and  as  thick  as  the  main  wall,  and  in 


48  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

them  are  archways,  sometimes  one,  sometimes  two, 
sometimes  three  ways  out,  but  always  there  is  a 
great  square  walled  off  in  front  of  the  gate  so  that 
the  traffic  must  pause,  and  may  be  stopped  before 
it  passes  under  the  main  archway  into  the  city. 
And  these  archways  look  down  upon  a  traffic  differ- 
ing but  little  from  that  which  has  passed  down 
through  all  the  ages. 

Here  come  the  camels  from  Mongolia,  ragged  and 
dusty,  laden  with  grain,  and  wool,  and  fruit,  and  the 
camels  from  the  Western  Hills,  laden  with  those 
"black  stones"  that  Marco  Polo  noted  seven 
hundred  years  ago,  and  told  his  fellow-countrymen 
they  burned  for  heating  purposes  in  Cambulac. 
You  may  see  them  down  by  the  Ha  Ta  Men  prepar- 
ing to  start  out  on  their  long  journey,  you  may  see 
them  in  the  Imperial  City,  bringing  in  their  wares, 
but  outside  the  south-western  gate,  by  the  watch- 
tower  that  guards  the  corner  of  the  wall,  they  are  to 
be  seen  at  their  best.  Here,  where  the  dust  is 
heaped  high  under  the  clear  blue  sky  of  Northern 
China,  come  slowly,  in  stately  fashion,  the  camels, 
as  they  have  come  for  thousands  of  years.  The 
man  who  leads  them  is  ragged  in  the  blue  of  the 
peasant,  his  little  eyes  are  keen,  and  patient,  and 
cunning,  and  there  is  a  certain  stolidity  in  his 
demeanour;  life  can  hold  but  few  pleasures  for 
him,  one  would  think,  and  yet  he  is  human,  he 
cannot  go  on  superior,  regardless  of  outside  things, 
as  does  his  string  of  beasts  of  burden.  The  crenel- 
lated walls  rise  up  behind  them,  the  watch-tower 
with  its  painted  guns  frowns  down  upon  them,  and 
the  camels,  the  cord  fastened  to  the  tail  of  the  one 
in  front,  passing  through  the  nostrils  of  the  one 


WALLS  AND  GATES  OF  BABYLON    49 

behind,  go  steadily  on.  They  are  like  the  walls, 
they  are  older  than  the  walls,  possibly  they  may 
outlive  the  walls;  silently,  surely,  in  the  soft, 
heaped-up  dust  they  move ;  so  they  came  a  thousand 
years  ago,  two  thousand  years  ago,  before  the  very 
dawn  of  history. 

These  Babylonish  gates  have  for  me  a  never- 
ending  attraction.  I  look  and  look  at  the  traffic, 
and  always  find  something  new.  One  sunny  morn- 
ing I  went  and  sat  in  the  Chien  Men,  just  to  watch 
the  never-ending  throng  that  made  their  way  back- 
wards and  forwards  between  the  Chinese  and  the 
Tartar  Cities.  I  took  up  my  position  in  the  centre 
of  the  great  square,  large  as  Waterloo  Place, 
enclosed  by  the  curtain  wall,  and  the  American 
Guard  looked  down  upon  me  and  wondered,  for 
they  watch  the  traffic  day  in  and  day  out,  and  so 
long  as  it  is  peaceful,  they  see  nothing  to  remark 
upon  in  it.  There  are  three  gates  in  the  curtain 
wall,  the  one  to  the  south  is  never  opened  except 
for  the  highest  in  the  land  to  pass  through,  but  from 
the  east  gate  the  traffic  goes  from  the  Tartar  to  the 
Chinese  City,  through  the  west  it  comes  back 
again,  meeting  and  passing  under  the  great  archway 
that  leads  to  the  Tartar  City.  And  all  day  long 
that  square  is  thronged.  East  and  west  of  the  main 
archway  are  little  temples  with  the  golden-brown 
roofs  of  all  imperial  temples,  the  Goddess  of  Mercy 
is  enshrined  here,  and  there  are  bronze  vases  and 
flowering  plants,  and  green  trees  in  artistic  pots,  all 
going  to  make  a  quiet  little  resting-place  where  a  man 
may  turn  aside  for  a  moment  from  the  rush  and  roar 
of  the  city,  burn  aromatic  incense  sticks,  and  invoke 
good  fortune  for  the  enterprise  on  which  he  is 


50  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

engaged.  Do  the  people  believe  in  the  Goddess 
of  Mercy,  I  wonder?  About  as  much  as  I  do,  I 
suspect.  The  Chinaman,  said  a  Chinese  to  me 
once,  is  the  most  materialistic  of  heathens,  believing 
in  little  that  he  cannot  see,  and  handle,  and  explain ; 
but  all  of  us,  Eastern  or  Western,  are  human,  and 
have  the  ordinary  man's  desire  for  the  pitiful,  kindly 
care  of  some  unseen  Power.  It  is  only  natural.  I, 
too,  Westerner  as  I  am,  daughter  of  the  newest  of 
nations,  burned  incense  sticks  at  the  shrine  of 
the  Goddess  of  Mercy,  and  put  up  a  little  prayer 
that  the  work  upon  which  I  was  engaged  should 
be  successful.  Men  have  prayed  here  through  the 
centuries.  The  prayer  of  so  great  a  multitude  must 
surely  reach  the  Most  High,  and  what  matter  by 
what  name  He  is  known. 

Besides  the  temples  there  are  little  guard-houses 
for  the  soldiers  in  the  square ;  guard-houses  with 
delicate,  dainty  lattice-work  windows,  and  there  are 
signboards  with  theatre  notices  in  Chinese  on  gay 
red  and  yellow  paper.  There  are  black  and  yellow 
uniformed  military  police,  there  are  grey-coated 
little  soldiers  with  just  a  dash  of  red  about  their 
shabby,  ill-fitting  uniforms,  and  there  are  the  people 
passing  to  and  fro  intent  on  their  business,  the 
earning  of  a  cash,  or  of  thousands  of  dollars.  The 
earning  of  a  cash,  one  would  think  mostly,  looking 
at  many  a  thing  of  shreds  and  patches  that  passes 
by.  To  Western  eyes  the  traffic  is  archaic,  no 
great  motors  rush  about  carrying  crowds  at  once,  it 
consists  of  rickshaws  with  one  or,  at  most,  a  couple 
of  fares,  of  Peking  carts  with  blue  tilts  and  a  sturdy 
pony  or  a  handsome  mule  in  the  shafts,  and  the 
driver  seated  cross-legged  in  front,  of  longer  carts 


CAMELS  OUTSIDE  THE  SOUTH-WESTERN  GATE. 


CAMELS  BY  THE  HA  TA  MEN. 


WALLS  AND  GATES  OF  BABYLON    51 

with  wheels  studded,  as  the  Peking  carts  are,  and 
loaded  with  timber,  with  lime,  and  all  manner  of 
merchandise,  and  drawn  sometimes  by  three  or  four 
underfed  little  horses,  but  mostly  by  a  horse  or  mule 
in  the  shafts  and  a  mule  or  a  donkey  so  far  in  front 
one  wonders  he  can  exert  any  influence  on  the 
traction  at  all.  The  rickshaw  coolies  clang  their 
bells,  men  on  bicycles  toot  their  horns,  every 
donkey,  and  most  horses  and  mules,  have  rings  of 
bells  round  their  necks,  and  everyone  shouts  at  the 
top  of  his  voice,  while  forty  feet  up  on  the  wall,  a 
foreign  soldier,  one  of  the  Americans  who  hold  the 
Chien  Men,  is  practising  all  his  bugle  calls. 

"  Turn  out,  turn  out.  Mess,  mess,"  proclaims 
the  bugle  shrilly  above.  "  Clang,  clang,  clang," 
ring  the  rickshaw  bells.  A  postman  in  shabby  blue, 
with  bands  of  dirty  white,  passes  on  his  bicycle  and 
blows  his  horn,  herald  of  the  ways  of  the  West.  A 
brougham  comes  along  with  sides  all  of  glass,  such 
as  the  Chinaman  loves.  In  it  is  a  man  in  a  modern 
tall  hat,  a  little  out-of-date;  on  the  box,  are  two 
men  in  grey  silk,  orthodox  Chinese  costume,  queue 
and  all,  but  alas  for  picturesqueness  they  have 
crowned  their  heads  with  hideous  tourist  caps,  the 
mafoo  behind  on  the  step,  hanging  on  to  the  roof 
by  a  strap,  has  on  a  very  ordinary  wideawake,  his 
business  it  is  to  jump  down  and  lead  the  horses 
round  a  corner — no  self-respecting  Chinese  horse 
can  negotiate  a  corner  without  assistance — and  the 
finishing  touch  is  put  by  the  coachman,  also  in  a 
tourist  cap,  who  clangs  a  bell  with  as  much  fervour 
as  a  rickshaw  coolie.  Before  this  carriage  trot  out- 
riders. "  Lend  light,  lend  light,"  they  cry,  which  is 
the  Eastern  way  of  saying  "  By  your  leave,  by  your 


52  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

leave.  My  master  a  great  man  comes."  After  the 
coach  come  more  riders.  It  may  be  a  modern 
carriage  in  which  Tie  rides,  but  the  important  man  in 
China  can  no  more  move  without  his  outriders  and 
his  following,  than  could  one  of  the  kings  or  nobles 
of  Nineveh  or  Babylon. 

More  laden  carts  come  in  from  the  west,  and  the 
policeman,  in  dusty  black  and  yellow,  directs  them, 
though  they  really  need  no  directing.  The  average 
Chinese  mind  is  essentially  orderly,  and  never 
dreams  of  questioning  rules.  Is  there  not  a  stone 
exactly  in  the  middle  of  the  road  under  the  great 
archway,  and  does  not  every  man  know  that  those 
going  east  must  go  one  way,  and  those  going  west 
the  other?  What  need  for  direction?  An  old- 
fashioned  fat  Chinese  with  shaven  head  and  pigtail 
and  sleeveless  black  satin  waistcoat  over  his  long 
blue  coat  comes  along.  He  half-smothers  a  small 
donkey  with  a  ring  of  jingling  bells  round  its  neck, 
a  coolie  follows  him  in  rags,  but  that  does  not 
matter,  spring  is  in  the  land,  and  he  is  nearly  hidden 
by  the  lilac  bloom  he  carries,  another  comes  along 
with  a  basket  strapped  on  his  back  and  a  scoop  in 
his  hand,  he  is  collecting  the  droppings  of  the 
animals,  either  for  manure  or  to  make  argol  for  fuel, 
a  stream  of  rickshaws  swerve  out  of  the  way  of  a 
blind  man,  ragged,  bent,  old,  who  with  lute  in  one 
hand  and  staff  in  the  other  taps  his  way  along. 

"  Hsien  Sheng,  before  born,"  he  is  addressed  by 
the  coolies  directing  him,  for  his  affliction  brings 
him  outward  respect  from  these  courteous  people. 

In  the  rickshaws  are  all  manner  of  people : 
Manchu  women  with  high  head-dresses  in  the  form 
of  a  cross,  highly  painted  faces  and  the  gayest  of 


WALLS  AND  GATES  OF  BABYLON    53 

long  silk  coats,  shy  Chinese  women,  who  from  their 
earliest  childhood  have  been  taught  that  a  woman 
must  efface  herself.  Their  hair  is  decked  with 
flowers,  and  dressed  low  on  the  nape  of  their  necks, 
their  coats  are  of  soberer  colours,  and  their  feet  are 
pitifully  maimed.  "  For  every  small  foot,"  says  a 
Chinese  proverb,  "  there  is  a  jar  full  of  tears."  The 
years  of  agony  every  one  of  those  women  must  have 
lived  through,  but  their  faces  are  impassive,  smiling 
with  a  surface  smile  that  gives  no  indication  of  the 
feelings  behind. 

The  Chien  Men,  because  it  opens  only  from  the 
Tartar  to  the  Chinese  City,  is  not  closed,  but  eight 
o'clock  sees  all  the  gates  in  the  twenty-three  miles 
of  outer  wall  closed  for  the  night,  and  very  awkward 
it  sometimes  is  for  the  foreigner,  who  is  not  used  to 
these  restrictions,  for  neither  threats  nor  bribes  will 
open  those  gates  once  they  are  shut. 

I  remember  on  one  occasion  a  young  fellow,  who 
had  lingered  too  long  among  the  delights  of  the 
city,  found  himself,  one  pleasant  warm  summer 
evening,  just  outside  the  Shun  Chih  Men  as  the 
gates  of  the  Chinese  City  were  closing.  He  wanted 
to  get  back  to  his  cottage  at  the  race-course  but  the 
guardians  of  the  gate  were  obdurate.  "  It  was  an 
order  and  the  gates  were  closed  till  daylight  next 
morning."  He  could  not  climb  the  walls,  and  even 
if  he  could,  the  two  ponies  he  had  with  him  could 
not.  He  probably  used  up  all  the  bad  language  at 
his  command,  if  I  know  anything  about  him,  and 
he  grew  more  furious  when  he  recollected  he  had 
guests  coming  to  dinner.  Then  he  began  to 
think,  and  remembered  that  the  railway  came 
through  the  wall.  Inspection  showed  him  that  there 


54  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

were  gates  across  it,  also  fast  closed,  and  here  he 
got  his  second  wind,  and  quite  a  fresh  assortment  of 
bad  language,  which  was  checked  by  the  whistle  of 
an  approaching  train.  Then  a  bright  idea  occurred 
to  him.  Where  a  train  could  go,  a  pony  could  go, 
and  he  stood  close  to  the  line  in  the  darkness, 
instructed  his  mafoo  to  keep  close  beside  him,  and 
the  moment  the  train  passed,  got  on  to  the  line  and 
followed  in  its  wake,  regardless  of  the  protests 
of  raging  gatekeepers.  He  got  through  the  gate 
triumphantly,  but  then,  alas,  his  troubles  began,  for 
the  railway  line  had  not  been  built  with  a  view  to 
taking  ponies  through  the  wall.  There  were  rocks 
and  barbed  wire,  there  were  fences,  and  there  were 
mud  holes,  and  his  guests  are  wont  to  relate  how  as 
they  were  sitting  down  to  table  under  the  hospitable 
guidance  of  his  No.  i  boy,  there  arrived  on  the 
scene  a  man,  mud  to  the  eyes — it  was  summertime 
when  there  is  plenty  of  mud  in  the  country  round 
Peking — and  silent,  because  no  profanity  of  which 
he  was  capable  could  possibly  have  done  justice  to 
his  feelings.  Such  are  some  of  the  joys  of  living  in 
a  Babylonish  city. 

When  I  had  sat  an  hour  in  the  gate  I  rose  to  go, 
and  the  rickshaw  coolie  and  I  disagreed  as  to  the 
fare.  A  rickshaw  coolie  and  I  never  did  agree  as 
to  the  fare.  Gladly  would  I  pay  double  to  avoid  a 
row,  but  the  coolie,  taken  from  the  Legation  Quarter 
of  Peking  where  the  tourists  spoil  him,  would 
complain  and  try  to  extort  more  if  you  offered  him 
a  dollar  for  a  ten-cent  ride,  therefore  the  thing  was 
not  to  be  avoided.  I  did  not  see  my  way  to  getting 
clear,  and  a  crowd  began  to  gather.  Then  there 
came  along  a  Chinese,  a  well-dressed  young  man. 


INSIDE  THE  CURTAIN   WALL  OF  THE   CHIEN   MEN. 


I  A 


CAMELS  OUTSIDE  SOUTH-WESTERN  WALL,  PEKING. 


WALLS  AND  GATES  OF  BABYLON    55 

His  long  petticoats  of  silk  were  slit  at  the  sides,  he 
had  on  a  silken  jacket  and  a  little  round  cap.  He 
wore  no  queue,  because  few  of  the  men  of  his 
generation,  and  of  his  rank  wear  a  queue,  and  he 
spoke  English  as  good  as  my  own. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  I  told  him.  "How 
much  did  you  pay  him?"  "Forty  cents."  "It  is 
too  much,"  said  he,  and  he  called  a  policeman,  and 
that  coolie  was  driven  off  with  contumely.  But  it 
marked  a  wonderful  stride  in  Chinese  feeling  that  a 
Chinese  should  come  to  the  assistance  of  a  foreigner 
in  distress.  Not  very  long  ago  he  would  have 
passed  on  the  other  side,  scorning  the  woman  of  the 
outer  barbarians,  glad  in  his  heart  that  she  should  be 
"  done  "  even  by  one  so  low  in  the  social  scale  as  a 
rickshaw  coolie,  a  serf  of  the  great  city  these  ancient 
walls  enclose. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE    LEGATION    QUARTER    OF    PEKING 

A  forgotten  tragedy— The  troops—"  Lest  We  Forget  "—The 
fortified  wall — "  No  low-class  Chinese  " — The  last  thing  in 
the  way  of  insults — A  respecter  of  power — Racing  stables — 
Pekin  s' amuse — Chinese  gentleman  on  a  waltz — Musical 
comedy — The  French  of  the  Far  East — Chances  of  an  out- 
break— No  wounded. 

"  AT  Canton  a  few  years  since,"  wrote  Sir  George 
Staunton,  recording  the  visit  of  the  first  British 
Ambassador  to  the  Emperor  of  China  in  1798,  "an 
accident  happened  which  had  well-nigh  put  a  stop 
to  our  foreign  trade.  Evils  of  every  kind  fraught 
with  this  tendency  are  to  be  apprehended,  and  ought 
to  be  particularly  guarded  against,  especially  by  a 
commercial  nation.  On  some  day  of  rejoicing  in 
firing  the  guns  of  one  of  those  vessels  which  navi- 
gates between  the  British  settlements  in  India  and 
Canton,  but  not  in  the  employment  of  the  East 
India  Company,  two  Chinese,  in  a  boat  lying  near 
the  vessel,  were  accidentally  killed  by  the  gunner. 
The  crime  of  murder  is  never  pardoned  in  China. 
The  Viceroy  of  the  Province,  fired  with  indignation 
at  the  supposed  atrocity,  demanded  the  perpetrator 
of  the  deed,  or  the  person  of  him  who  ordered  it. 
The  event  was  stated  in  remonstrance  to  be  purely 
accidental  but  the  Viceroy,  supposing  it  to  have  been 
done  from  a  wicked  disposition,  still  persisted  in  his 

56 


LEGATION   QUARTER  OF  PEKING    57 

demand,  and  to  assure  himself  of  that  object,  he 
seized  one  of  the  principal  supercargoes.  The  other 
factories  being  alarmed,  united  themselves  with  the 
English  as  in  a  common  cause,  and  seemed  disposed 
to  resist  the  intentions  of  the  Viceroy  who  on  his 
part  arranged  his  troops  on  the  banks  of  the  river  to 
force  a  compliance.  It  was  at  last  deemed  expe- 
dient on  principles  of  policy,  to  give  up  the  gunner 
with  scarce  a  glimmering  of  hope  that  his  life  would 
be  spared." 

Later  on  in  a  casual  footnote  he  records  that  their 
worst  fears  had  been  realised,  and  the  unfortunate 
gunner,  given  up,  let  us  hope,  not  so  much  from 
motives  of  policy  as  to  save  the  supercargo,  had  been 
done  to  death. 

That  incident,  to  my  mind,  explains  the  Legation 
Quarter  of  Peking  to-day.  Of  course  the  Legation, 
in  its  present  form,  dates  only  from  the  Boxer  rising, 
but  the  germ  of  it  was  there  when  the  merchants 
of  the  assembled  nations  felt  themselves  compelled 
to  sacrifice  the  careless  gunner  "from  motives  of 
policy."  One  hundred  and  twenty  years  ago  the 
Western  nations  were  only  a  stage  removed  from 
the  barbaric  civilisation  the  Chinese  had  reached  two 
or  three  thousand  years  before,  but  still  they  were 
moving  onward,  and  they  felt  they  must  combine  if 
they  would  trade  with  this  rich  land,  and  yet  protect 
their  subjects  and  their  goods.  And  so  they  did 
combine,  and  there  arose  that  curious  state  of  affairs 
between  the  foreigners  and  the  people  of  the  land 
that  has  held  for  many  years,  that  holds  in  no  other 
land,  and  that  has  crystallised  in  the  Legation 
Quarter  of  Peking. 

Suppose  in  London  all  the  great  nations  of  the 


58  A  WOMAN   IN  CHINA 

earth  took  a  strip  of  the  town,  extending  say  from 
Marble  Arch  to  Hyde  Park  Corner,  and  from  Park 
Lane  to  Bond  Street,  held  it  and  fortified  it  heavily, 
barring  out  the  inhabitants,  not  wholly,  but  by 
certain  regulations  that  prevented  them  having  the 
upper  hand.  The  thing  is  unthinkable,  yet  that  is 
exactly  what  has  happened  in  Peking.  Against  the 
Tartar  wall,  from  the  Chien  Men  to  the  Ha  Ta  Men, 
the  nations  have  taken  a  parallelogram  of  ground  all 
but  a  mile  square,  they  have  heavily  fortified  it,  on 
three  sides  they  have  cleared  a  broad  glacis  on  which 
no  houses  may  be  built,  and  they  have  there  a  body 
of  troops  with  which  they  could  overawe  if  not  hold 
all  the  town. 

No  man  knows  exactly  how  many  men  the 
Japanese  have,  but  supposing  they  are  on  a  par  with 
the  other  nations,  there  are  at  least  two  thousand 
five  hundred  men  armed  to  the  teeth  and  kept  at 
the  highest  pitch  of  perfection  in  the  Legation 
Quarter.  Living  there  is  like  living  in  an  armed 
camp.  You  cannot  go  in  or  out  without  passing 
forts  or  guns,  in  the  streets  you  meet  ammunition 
wagons,  baggage  wagons,  Red  Cross  wagons,  and 
at  every  turn  are  soldiers,  soldiers  of  all  the  Euro- 
pean nations  that  have  any  standing  at  all,  soldiers 
from  America,  soldiers  from  Japan;  they  are  doing 
sentry-go  at  the  various  Legations,  they  are  drilling, 
they  are  marching,  they  are  shooting  all  day  long. 
In  one  corner  of  the  British  Legation  they  keep  un- 
touched a  piece  of  the  old  shot- torn  wall  of  1900 
and  painted  on  it,  in  big  black  letters,  is  the  legend, 
"  Lest  We  Forget,"  a  reminder  always,  if  the  nations 
needed  a  reminder,  of  the  days  of  1900,  of  the 
terrible  days  that  may  be  repeated  any  time  this 


ENTRANCE  TO  BRITISH  LEGATION. 


ASTRONOMICAL  INSTRUMENTS  ON  THE  WALL. 

(Seepage  31) 


LEGATION   QUARTER  OF   PEKING    59 

peace-loving  nation  drifts  into  an  anti-foreign  out- 
break. I  was  going  to  write  it  is  almost  insulting, 
but  it  is  insulting,  and  this  armed  Legation  Quarter 
must  be  in  truth  cruelly  galling  to  the  better-class, 
educated  Chinese.  They  must  long  to  oust  these 
arrogant  men  from  the  West  and  their  neighbour 
from  the  East,  who  thus  lord  it  over  them  in  the 
very  heart  of  their  own  city.  Even  the  wall,  the 
great  Tartar  wall  built  first  by  Kublai  Khan,  and 
finished  by  the  Ming  conquerors,  comes  under 
foreign  domination  from  the  Ha  Ta  Men  to  the 
Chien  Men.  The  watch-tower  over  the  Ha  Ta  Men 
is  still  in  the  hands  of  the  Chinese,  and  like  most 
things  Chinese  is  all  out  of  repair.  The  red  lacquer 
is  cracked,  the  gold  is  faded,  the  grass  grows  on  the 
tiled  roofs,  in  the  winter  dried-up  and  faded,  in  the 
summer  lush  and  green,  and  for  all  the  Chinese 
soldiers  hold  it,  it  is  desolate  and  a  thing  of  the  past. 
But  a  hundred  yards  or  so  to  the  west,  is  the  German 
post.  Always  are  armed  men  there  with  the  eagle 
on  their  helmets,  always  an  armed  sentry  marches 
up  and  down,  keeping  watch  and  ward.  No  great 
need  for  them  to  hold  the  Ha  Ta  Men,  their  guns 
dominate  it,  and  below  in  the  town  the  French  hold 
carefully  the  fortified  eastern  side  of  the  Legation 
Quarter.  The  centre  of  that  strip  of  wall,  held  by 
the  Japanese,  is  marked  by  an  iron  fence  called,  I 
am  told,  a  "traverse."  There  is  a  gate  in  it,  and 
across  the  path  to  that  gate,  so  that  it  may  not  be 
so  easily  got  through,  is  built  up  a  little  wall  of  brick 
the  height  of  a  man.  In  the  summertime  the  grass 
grows  on  it  green  and  fresh,  and  all  the  iron  bars  of 
that  fence  and  gate  are  wreathed  in  morning  glory. 
The  Japanese  are  not  so  much  in  evidence  as  the 


60  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

efficient  Germans  or  the  smart  Americans,  but  I  am 
told  they  are  more  than  keen,  and  would  gladly  and 
effectually  hold  the  whole  wall  would  the  other 
nations  allow  them.  At  the  Chien  Men,  the  western 
end  of  the  mile-long  strip  of  wall  are  the  Americans, 
tall,  lean,  smart,  capable  men  in  khaki,  with  slouch 
hats  turned  up  at  the  sides,  clean-shaven  faces  and 
the  sound  in  their  voices  that  makes  of  their  English 
another  tongue.  In  the  troubles  of  1912,  when  fires 
were  breaking  out  all  over  the  city,  and  every 
foreigner  fled  for  safety  to  his  Legation,  Uncle  Sam, 
guarding  the  western  end  of  the  wall  overlooking 
those  Legations,  seized  the  beautiful  new  watch- 
tower  on  the  Chien  Men,  his  soldiers  established 
themselves  there,  and  they  hold  it  still.  It  domin- 
ates their  Legation  they  say  with  reason,  for  their 
own  safety  they  must  hold  it,  and  the  Chinese 
acquiesce,  not  because  they  like  it,  but  because  they 
must.  Periodically  representations  come  in,  all  is 
quiet  now,  the  Americans  may  as  well  give  up  the 
main  gate,  or  rather  watch-tower,  for  they  do  not 
hold  the  main  gate,  only  the  tower  that  overlooks  it. 
But  the  answer  is  always  the  same,  it  overlooks  their 
Legation,  they  must  hold  it.  They  have  a  wireless 
telegraph  post  there  and  a  block-house,  and  the  regu- 
lations for  the  sentry,  couched  in  cold,  calm,  official 
language,  are  an  insult  to  the  friendly  nation  that 
gives  them  hospitality,  or  would  be  so,  if  that  nation 
had  not  shown  itself  incapable  of  controlling  the 
passions  of  its  own  aroused  people.  The  sentry 
clad  in  khaki  in  summer,  in  blue  in  winter,  marching 
up  and  down  by  the  watch-tower,  magnificent  in  its 
gorgeous  Eastern  decorations  of  blue,  and  green,  and 
red,  and  barbaric  gold,  must  report  at  once  anything 


LEGATION   QUARTER  OF   PEKING    61 

unusual  taking  place  in  the  gate  below,  any  large 
gathering  of  Chinese,  any  unusual  commotion,  but 
above  all  upon  that  wall,  that  wall  that  belongs  to 
them  and  is  the  wall  of  their  capital  city,  he  must  not 
allow,  without  a  permit,  any  Chinese.  The  word- 
ing of  the  order  runs,  "  No  low-class  Chinese,"  but 
the  definition  of  low  class  is  left  to  the  discretion  of 
the  soldier,  and  he  is  not  likely  to  risk  a  reproof  from 
those  in  authority  over  him  by  being  too  lax.  With 
my  own  eyes  have  I  seen  a  Chinese,  well-dressed 
in  European  clothes,  turned  back  by  the  sentry 
from  the  ramp  when  he  would  have  walked  upon  the 
wall.  He  looked  surprised,  he  was  with  European 
friends,  the  order  could  not  apply  to  him,  but  the 
sentry  was  firm.  He  had  his  orders,  "  No  Chinese," 
and  without  a  special  permit  he  must  see  them 
carried  out.  It  seemed  cruel,  and  unnecessarily 
humiliating,  but  on  the  central  ramp  are  still  the 
places  where  the  Americans,  seeking  some  material 
for  a  barricade,  fighting  to  save  themselves  from  a 
ghastly  death,  tore  out  the  bricks  from  the  side  of 
the  great  wall.  Other  nations  beside  Britain,  write 
in  their  actions,  if  not  on  their  walls :  "  Lest  We 
Forget!  "  The  lower-class  Chinese  probably  do  not 
mind  the  prohibition.  It  is  considered  bad  manners 
for  a  Chinaman  to  walk  upon  the  wall,  because 
he  thereby  overlooks  the  private  houses  below,  but 
in  these  Says  of  the  New  Republic  possibly  good 
manners  are  not  so  much  considered  as  formerly, 
and  since  the  Chinese  have  never  been  allowed  upon 
the  wall  they  probably  do  not  realise  that  thirteen 
miles  of  it  are  free  to  them,  if  they  care  to  go  there. 
Some  few  I  know  do,  because  I  have  met  there  men 
gathering  the  dried  vegetation  for  fuel,  and  I  have 


62  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

seen  one  or  two  beggars,  long-haired,  filthy  men  in 
the  frowsiest  of  rags,  but  the  first  have  probably  got 
permission  from  the  soldiers,  and  the  latter,  seeing 
foreigners  there,  have  most  likely  been  tempted  by 
the  hope  of  what  to  them  is  a  lavish  dole,  and,  finding 
no  harm  happen,  have  come  again.  I  may  be 
wrong,  of  course,  but  I  hardly  think  death  can  have 
much  terror  for  the  Chinese  beggar,  life  must  hold 
so  very  little  for  him.  Those  who,  having  dared 
their  own  portion  of  the  wall  with  impunity,  find 
the  foreign  mile  still  a  forbidden  place  to  them, 
probably  put  it  in  the  same  category  as  the  For- 
bidden City,  and  never  realise  that  it  is  the  outlander, 
the  outer  barbarian,  and  not  their  own  Government 
that  shuts  them  off. 

But  the  holding  of  that  wall  by  an  armed  force, 
that  dominates  both  the  Chinese  and  the  Tartar 
Cities,  seems  to  me  the  very  greatest  thing  in  the 
way  of  insults.  Some  day  when  the  Chinese  are  a 
united  nation,  powerful  as  they  ought  to  be,  they 
will  awake  to  that  insult,  and  the  first  thing  they  will 
do  will  be  to  clear  their  wall  from  foreign  inter- 
ference. Meanwhile,  as  I  sit  in  a  courtyard  of  a 
temple  of  the  Western  Hills,  drinking  in  the 
sparkling  air  of  September,  looking  at  the  lovely 
blue  sky  peeping  through  the  dark  green  branches 
of  the  temple  pines,  as  I  sit  and  write  this  book,  I 
think  gratefully  of  that  loose-limbed,  lissom,  athletic, 
young  American  soldier  who,  with  rifle  across  his 
shoulder,  is  doing  sentry-go  upon  the  wall.  The 
German  is  there  too,  the  stiff,  well-drilled,  military 
German,  but  my  heart  goes  out  to  the  man  who  is 
nearer  akin,  and  whose  speech  is  not  unlike  that  of 
the  people  of  my  own  land.  It  seems  to  me  I  am 


LEGATION   QUARTER  OF   PEKING    63 

safe  here,  alone  among  the  Chinese,  because  of  those 
soldiers.  There  are  those  who  will  say  I  am  wrong, 
that  the  Chinese  are  always  courteous,  and  that  they 
like  me  because  of  the  money  I  put  into  their 
pockets.  And  that  is  true  enough  too.  I  have 
found  the  very  rickshaw  coolie  a  finished,  courteous 
gentleman  in  his  manner  towards  me,  and  I  have 
received  many  little  acts  of  kindness  which  could 
but  come  from  a  kindly  heart,  with  no  thought  of 
profit  behind  it;  but  still,  deep  down  at  the  bottom 
of  my  heart,  I  know  that  the  Chinese,  more  than 
any  man  on  earth  perhaps,  respects  power,  and  the 
Legation  Quarter,  and  the  holding  of  that  wall,  are 
an  outward  manifestation  of  power  that  reaches  far 
and  keeps  me  safe  here  in  my  mountain  temple. 
The  gods  here  by  my  side  are  dead,  who  fears  or 
respects  the  gods,  Spanish  chestnuts  are  stored 
beside  their  altars,  but  the  foreign  soldiers  on 
the  wall  are  a  fact  there  is  no  getting  over.  It 
impresses  those  in  authority,  and  the  fiat  goes  forth, 
permeating  through  all  classes,  "  The  foreigner  is 
not  to  be  touched  under  any  circumstances  what- 


ever." 


On  this  wall  come  the  foreign  community  to 
exercise  and  promenade  in  the  cool  of  the  evening 
in  summer,  or  to  enjoy  the  sunshine  at  midday  in 
winter,  and  here  all  the  soldiers  and  sailors  of  the 
various  nationalities  foregather.  There  is  no  other 
place  in  all  Peking  where  one  can  walk  with  com- 
fort, for  the  Chinese  as  a  nation,  have  no  idea  of 
the  joy  of  exercise.  They  have  put  it  out  of  the 
power  of  their  women  to  move  save  with  difficulty, 
and  that  a  man  should  take  any  pleasure  in  violent 
exercise  seems  to  them  absurd.  To  walk  when  he 


64  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

can  ride  in  a  rickshaw,  or  mount  a  donkey,  would 
argue  something-  wrong  in  his  mental  outlook,  so 
it  happens  that,  in  all  the  great  city,  there  are 
only  the  streets  of  the  Legation  Quarter  and  the 
wall  where  walking  exercise  can  be  indulged  in. 
The  streets  of  the  Quarter  are  the  streets  of  an 
uninteresting,  commonplace  town,  but  the  wall 
overlooking  the  two  cities  is  quite  another  matter. 
Here  the  part  of  the  foreign  community  that  does 
not  ride  takes  its  exercise,  and  foregathers  with  its 
kind. 

The  foreign  quarter  is  not  always  thinking  of  the 
dangers  it  is  guarding  against.  That  it  thinks  also 
a  great  deal  of  its  amusement,  goes  without  saying. 
I  have  observed  that  this  is  a  special  characteristic 
of  the  Briton  abroad.  At  home  the  middle-class 
man — or  woman — is  chary  of  pleasure,  taking  it  as 
if  it  were  something  he  had  hardly  a  right  to ;  but 
abroad  he  seizes  eagerly  the  smallest  opportunity 
for  amusing  himself,  demanding  amusement  as 
something  that  hardly  compensates  him  for  his  exile 
from  his  native  land.  So  it  has  come  that  I,  a 
looker-on,  with  less  strong  bonds  than  those  from 
the  Old  Country  binding  me  to  my  father's  land, 
fancy  that  these  exiles  have  in  the  end  a  far  better 
time  than  the  men  of  the  same  class  who  stay 
at  home.  I  am  apt  to  have  no  pity  for  them 
whatever. 

One  thing  is  certain,  people  keep  horses  here  in 
Peking  who  could  not  dream  of  such  a  luxury  in 
England.  True,  they  are  only  ponies  fourteen 
hands  high,  but  a  great  deal  of  fun  can  be  got  out 
of  pony  racing.  And  racing-stables  are  a  feature  of 
the  Quarter.  Not  that  they  are  in  the  Quarter. 


LEGATION   QUARTER  OF  PEKING    65 

On  the  plain,  about  five  miles  to  the  west  of  the 
city,  lies  the  little  race-course,  and  dotted  about 
within  easy  distance  of  this  excellent  training-ground 
are  the  various  training-stables  for  the  ponies.  The 
China  pony  comes  from  Mongolia,  where  close 
watch  and  ward  is  kept  over  him,  and  neither  mares 
nor  stallions  are  exported. 

"HI  could  only  get  hold  of  a  mare,"  sighs  the 
young  racing  man,  but  he  sighs  in  vain.  Mean- 
while he  can  indulge  in  the  sport  of  kings  cheaply. 

"  I've  joined  another  fellow  in  a  racing-stable," 
said  a  man  to  me,  soon  after  my  arrival  in  Peking, 
and  I  looked  upon  him  with  something  of  the  awe 
and  respect  one  gives  to  great  wealth.  I  had  not 
thought  he  was  so  well  off.  He  saw  my  mistake 
and  laughed. 

"The  preliminary  expenses  are  only  thirty 
pounds,"  he  went  on,  "  and  I  don't  intend  they  shall 
be  very  heavy.  We  can  have  good  sport  at  a 
moderate  cost."  Of  course  moderate  cost  is  an 
elastic  term,  depending  on  the  purse  of  the  speaker, 
but  in  this  case  I  think  it  meant  that  men  of  very 
ordinary  means,  poor  exiles  who  would  live  in  a 
six-roomed  flat  with  a  couple  of  maidservants  in 
England,  might  have  a  good  time  without  straining 
those  means  unduly. 

A  race-meeting  in  Peking  has  peculiarities  all  its 
own.  Of  course  it  is  only  the  men  from  the  West 
who  would  think  of  a  race-meeting.  The  Chinese, 
except  at  the  theatre,  do  not  amuse  themselves  in 
crowds. 

The  Spring  Meeting  took  place  early  in  May, 
and  the  description  of  it  should  come  a  little  later 
in  my  book,  but  it  seems  to  fall  naturally  into 

£ 


66  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

the  story  of  the  doings  of  the  Legation  Quarter. 
Arrangements  were  made  with  the  French  railway 
running  to  Hankow  to  stop  close  to  the  course,  and 
put  the  race-going  crowd  down  there.  There  was 
no  other  means  of  getting  there,  except  by  riding ; 
for  driving  in  a  country  where  every  inch  of  ground, 
save  a  narrow  and  rough  track,  is  given  over  to  the 
needs  of  agriculture,  is  out  of  the  question.  That 
spring  race-meeting  the  day  was  ideal.  There  was 
the  blue  sky  overhead,  the  brilliant  sunshine,  a 
gentle  breeze  to  temper  it,  the  young  kaoliang  was 
springing,  lush  and  green,  in  the  fields,  and  the 
ash-trees  that  shelter  the  race-course  were  one 
delicate  tender  green.  A  delicious  day.  Could 
the  heart  of  man  desire  more?  Apparently  the 
foreign  residents  of  Peking  did  not  desire  more,  for 
they  turned  out,  men,  women,  and  children.  And 
then  I  saw  what  a  handful  of  people  are  these 
foreigners  who  live  in  the  capital  of  China  and 
endeavour  to  direct  her  destinies,  for  save  and 
except  the  missionary  element,  most  of  the  other 
foreigners  were  there,  from  his  Britannic  Majesty's 
representative  to  the  last  little  boy  who  had  joined 
a  hong  as  junior  clerk  at  a  hundred  dollars  a  month, 
and  felt  that  the  cares  of  Empire  were  on  his 
shoulders.  They  were  mostly  British,  of  course, 
the  foreign  trade  of  China — long  may  it  be  so — is 
mostly  in  British  hands ;  and  there  were  representa- 
tives of  every  other  great  nation,  the  Ministers 
of  France,  Germany,  Russia,  of  Italy,  Austria, 
Spain,  Belgium,  Holland,  and  Japan,  everyone 
but  America,  for  America  was  busy  recognising 
the  Chinese  Republic,  and  the  other  nations  were 
smiling,  and  wondering  why  the  nation  that  prides 


LEGATION   QUARTER  OF   PEKING    67 

itself  on  being  the  champion  of  freedom  for  the 
people,  was  being  the  first  to  recognise  what  is, 
virtually,  a  despotic  rule. 

The  little  course,  a  mile  round,  is  marked  out  with 
leafy  ash-trees,  the  grand-stand  was  charming  with 
lilac  bloom  purple  and  white,  and  banksia  roses, 
fragrant  as  tender  memories.  It  was  shaded  by 
p'engs — mats — raised  high  on  scaffolding,  so  that 
pleasant  shade  might  not  interfere  with  the  cool 
breeze,  and  here  were  the  women  of  the  community, 
the  women  of  well-to-do  people,  gay  in  dainty  toilets 
from  London  and  Paris ;  the  men  were  in  light 
summer  suits,  helmets  and  straw  hats,  for  summer 
was  almost  upon  us.  Tiffin,  the  luncheon  of  the 
East,  was  set  in  the  rooms  behind,  decorated  with 
miniature  flags  of  all  nations,  made  in  Japan,  and 
wreathed  with  artificial  flowers,  though  there  was 
a  wealth  of  natural  blossom  around  the  stand  out- 
side. There  is  a  steward's  room  and  the  weighing- 
room  in  one  tiny  building  with  a  curved  roof  of 
artistic  Chinese  design,  and  all  the  ponies  are 
walked  about  and  saddled  and  mounted  where  every 
interested  spectator  can  see  them.  And  every  spec- 
tator on  that  sunny  May  day  was  interested,  for  the 
horses,  the  sturdy  Chinese  ponies,  were,  and  always 
are,  owned  and  ridden  by  the  men  of  the  company, 
men  whom  everybody  knows  intimately.  For  these 
Peking  race-meetings  are  only  amateur,  and  though, 
occasionally,  a  special  pony  may  change  hands  at 
two  thousand  dollars — two  hundred  pounds — the 
majority  are  bought  and  sold  under  two  hundred 
dollars — twenty  pounds — and  yet  their  owners  have 
much  joy  and  pride  in  them. 

Surely  it  is  unique,  a  race-meeting  where  all  the 


68  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

civilised  nations  of  the  earth  meet  and  fraternise  in 
simple,  friendly  fashion,  taking  a  common  pleasure 
in  small  things. 

"They're  off!"  Mostly  the  exclamation  was  in 
English,  but  a  Russian-owned  horse,  ridden  by  a 
Cossack  rider,  won  one  race,  and  was  led  proudly 
up  to  the  weighing-room  by  a  fair  lady  of  his  own 
people,  and  was  cordially  applauded,  for  the 
winner  was  always  applauded,  no  matter  what  his 
nationality. 

The  horses,  coming  out  to  parade,  were  each  led 
by  their  own  mafoo,  who  managed  to  look  horsey 
in  spite  of  a  shaven  head,  long  queue,  and  pro- 
nounced Chinese  features.  Up  and  down  they  led 
the  ponies,  up  and  down,  and  when  at  last  the 
precious  charges  must  be  resigned,  a  score  of  them 
squatted  down  just  where  they  could  get  the  best 
view  of  the  race,  and  doubtless  each  man  put  up  a 
little  prayer  to  the  god  he  most  affected,  that  the 
pony  that  carried  his  money  might  come  in  first. 

When  we  were  not  watching  the  saddling,  or  the 
parade,  or  the  race,  or  the  weighing-in,  we  were 
listening  to  a  Chinese  band,  Sir  Robert  Bredon's 
band,  with  a  Chinese  conductor,  playing  selections 
from  all  the  modern  Western  music.  It  might  have 
been — where  in  the  world  might  it  not  have  been? 
Nowhere  but  in  Peking  in  the  heart  of  China  surely, 
for  there,  just  beyond  the  limit  of  the  course,  were 
long  strings  of  camels  bound  for  coal  to  the  Western 
Hills,  marching  steadily,  solemnly,  tirelessly,  as 
they  marched  in  the  days  of  Marco  Polo,  and  a 
thousand  years  before  the  days  of  Marco  Polo, 
and  all  round  the  course,  crowding  every  point  of 
vantage  were  a  large  concourse  of  Chinese,  people 


LEGATION  QUARTER  OF  PEKING    69 

of  the  working  and  middle  classes,  clad  mostly  in 
blue,  the  women  with  bound  feet  from  the  farms 
near  by,  the  men  and  the  children  very  likely  from 
further  afield,  but  all  unchanging  as  the  camels 
themselves,  eagerly  watching  the  foreigners'  sports. 
They  are  not  allowed  to  come  into  the  enclosure, 
every  mafoo  and  attendant  wears  a  special  badge, 
and  even  Chinese  of  the  better  class  may  come 
only  by  special  invitation  of  some  member.  These 
interested  folk,  who  have  no  friends  among  the 
foreigners  may  not  even  go  into  the  enclosure, 
where  the  "  Tommies "  and  bluejackets,  men  from 
England  and  America,  France,  Japan,  and  all  the 
countries  of  the  earth  crowded  in  the  gay  sunshine 
making  high  holiday.  Nevertheless  the  Orientals 
surrounded  the  course.  They  got  upon  the  mounds 
of  earth  that  are  at  the  back  and  looked  from  that 
vantage-point  not  only  at  the  races  but  at  the  foreign 
devils  at  their  tiffin  and  afternoon  tea.  Their  own 
refreshment  was  provided  by  hawkers  selling  cakes 
and  sweetmeats,  just  outside  the  forbidden  ground, 
and  Peking  carts  and  donkeys  waited  round  to  take 
them  back  to  their  homes.  There  were  even 
beggars  there,  beggars  with  long,  unkempt  hair, 
wrapped  in  a  single  garment  of  sackcloth,  ragged, 
unwashed,  unkempt,  the  typical  beggars  of  China, 
for  no  one  knows  better  than  they  when  money  is 
being  lightly  handled,  and  as  the  bright  sunny  day, 
the  gorgeous  spring  day  of  Northern  China  drew 
slowly  to  a  close  doubtless  even  they,  whom  every 
man's  hand  was  against,  gathered  in  a  few  stray 
cash.  I  hope  they  did.  Such  a  very  little  makes 
so  much  difference  in  China. 

The  sun  sank  slowly  to  the  west  in  the  translucent 


70  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

sky,  the  ponies  in  the  saddling  paddock  were  walked 
slowly  up  and  down  in  the  long  shadows  of  the  ash- 
trees,  and  the  country  was  beautiful  with  the  soft 
regret  of  the  dying  day  as  we  walked  back  through 
the  fields  of  kaoliang  to  the  railway  station,  we,  the 
handful  of  people  who  represented  the  power  and 
majesty  of  the  Western  world.  The  mighty  walls 
of  an  older  civilisation  frowned  down  upon  the  train 
— this  thing  of  yesterday — the  last  rays  of  the  setting 
sun  lighted  up  all  the  glory  of  the  red  and  gold  of 
the  Chien  Men  watch-tower  and  we  were  in  the 
Legation  Quarter  once  more,  with  armed  sentries  at 
the  gates,  and  the  American  soldier  upon  the  wall 
sounding  the  bugle  call  for  the  changing  guard. 

I  come  from  a  country  where  every  little  township 
considers  a  race-course  as  necessary  as  a  cemetery. 
I  have  been  to  many  many  race-meetings,  but  this 
one  in  Peking,  where  the  men  of  the  land  are  so 
barred  out  that  no  one  of  Chinese  descent  may 
belong  to  the  Club  or  even  ride  a  race,  stands  out 
as  unique.  It  has  a  place  in  my  mind  by  itself.  It 
was  so  expressive  of  the  attitude  of  the  Powers  who 
watch  over  China.  Peking,  the  Peking  of  the 
Legations  had  been  amusing  herself.  The  National 
Assembly  was  in  an  uproar,  the  Premier  was  openly 
accused  of  murder,  the  Loan  was  in  anything  but  a 
satisfactory  state,  everyone  feared  that  the  North 
and  the  South  would  be  at  each  other's  throats 
before  the  month  was  out,  the  air  was  full  of  rumours 
of  wars,  but  the  English-speaking  community  love 
racing,  the  other  nations,  from  their  Ministers 
downwards,  had  fallen  into  line,  and  Peking,  foreign 
Peking,  did  itself  well. 

And   I   wondered,    I   wondered   much  what  the 


SOUTH-EASTERN  WATCH-TOWER,  PEKING, 


i.  sTL 


A  FORT  OF  THE  BRITISH  LEGATION. 


LEGATION  QUARTER  OP  PEKING    71 

Chinese  thought  of  it  all.  It  is  very,  very  difficult, 
so  men  tell  me  who  have  lived  in  China  long,  and 
speak  the  language  well,  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  the 
Chinese  mind,  to  know  what  they  really  do  think  of 
us.  The  Chinese  gentleman  is  so  courteous  that 
as  far  as  possible  he  always  expresses  the  opinion 
he  thinks  you  would  like  to  hear,  and  the  Chinese 
woman,  even  if  she  be  of  the  better  classes,  with 
very  few  exceptions  is  unlearned  and  ignorant  as 
a  child,  indeed  she  is  worse  than  a  child  of  the 
Western  nations,  for  the  child  is  at  least  allowed  to 
ask  questions  and  learn,  while  all  her  charm  is 
supposed  to  depend  upon  her  subservience  and  her 
ignorance.  As  I  stood  on  the  race-course  that  day, 
and  many  a  time  as  I  sat  in  the  lounge  of  the  Wagons 
Lits  Hotel — the  European  hotel  of  the  Legation 
Quarter — where  all  tourists  visiting  Peking  come, 
where  the  nations  of  the  world  foregather,  and  East 
meets  West  as  never  before  perhaps  in  the  world's 
history  have  they  met,  I  have  wondered  very  much 
indeed  what  the  East,  the  portly  middle-aged  China- 
man with  flowing  silken  robes  and  long  queue  thinks 
of  us  and  our  manners  and  customs.  He  was 
accompanied  perhaps  by  a  friend,  or  perhaps  by  a 
lady  in  high  collar  and  trousers  with  a  little  son, 
the  crown  of  the  child's  head  shaven,  and  the 
remaining  hair  done  in  a  halo  of  little  plaits  tied  up 
with  string,  yellow,  red,  or  blue,  and  he  watched 
gravely  either  the  dancing,  or  the  conversation,  or 
the  conjurer,  or  whatever  other  amusement  the 
"Wagons  Lits"  had  for  the  time  being  set  up. 
Again  and  again  have  I  watched  him,  but  I  could 
never  even  make  a  guess  at  what  he  thought. 
Probably  it  was  anything  but  complimentary. 


72  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

"  The  men  dressed  for  dinner,"  said  a  Chinese 
once,  describing  an  evening  he  had  spent  among 
foreigners;  "then  the  order  was  given  and  the 
women  stripped,"  that  is  took  off  their  wraps  when 
the  music  began,  only  everything  is  "ordered"  in 
China,  "  and  each  man  seized  a  woman  in  his  arms. 
He  pushed  her  forward,  he  pulled  her  back," 
graphic  illustrations  were  given,  "he  whirled  round 
and  round  and  she  had  no  will  of  her  own.  And  it 
was  all  done  to  horrible  music." 

Everything  is  in  the  point  of  view,  and  that  is 
how,  at  least  one  Chinese  gentleman  saw  a  waltz. 
I  used  to  wonder  what  he  said  of  the  musical  comedy 
that  from  time  to  time  is  presented  by  a  wandering 
company  in  the  dining-room  of  the  Wagons  Lits 
Hotel.  They  displayed  upon  a  tiny  crowded  stage, 
for  the  edification  of  Chinese  and  foreigners  alike, 
for  the  room  was  crowded  with  Chinese  both  of  the 
old  and  of  the  new  order,  such  a  picture  of  morals 
as  Europeans  take  as  a  matter  of  course.  We  know 
well  enough  that  such  scenes  as  are  depicted  in 
"  The  Girl  in  the  Taxi "  are  merely  the  figments  of 
an  exuberant  imagination,  and  are  not  the  daily 
habits  of  any  class  either  in  London  or  Paris.  But 
what  do  the  Chinese  think?  All  things  are  neces- 
sary and  good,  I  suppose,  but  some  are  difficult  to 
explain.  Thirteen  years  ago  the  Boxer  tragedy, 
now  the  musical  comedy  full  of  indecencies  scarcely 
veiled. 

Truth  to  tell,  it  was  a  very  interesting  thing  for 
a  new-comer  like  me  to  sit  in  that  hotel  watching 
the  people,  and  listening  to  the  various  opinions  so 
freely  given  by  all  and  sundry.  From  all  parts  of 
the  world  people  come  there,  tourists,  soldiers, 


LEGATION  QUARTER  OF  PEKING    78 

sailors,  business  men,  philanthropists — men  who 
were  working  for  the  good  of  China,  and  men  who 
were  ready  to  exploit  her.  And  then  the  opinions 
as  to  the  safety  of  the  Europeans  in  China  that  were 
expressed!  Here,  in  the  security  of  the  Legation 
Quarter,  I  collected  those  opinions  as  I  wanted  to 
go  into  the  interior,  and  I  was  by  no  means  anxious 
to  risk  my  life. 

To  arrive  at  any  decision  was  very  difficult.  In 
the  Treaty  Ports  there  may  be  some  unanimity,  but 
once  outside  it  seemed  that  every  man  had  his  own 
particular  opinion  of  China  and  the  Chinese,  and 
all  these  opinions  differed  widely. 

"  Safe,"  said  a  man  who  had  fought  through  the 
Boxer  trouble ;  "  safer  far  than  London.  They  had 
to  pay  then,  and  they  won't  forget,  you  can  take 
your  oath  of  that." 

"  Like  living  on  a  volcano,"  said  another.  "  No, 
I  shall  never  forget  the  Boxer  trouble.  That's  the 
kind  of  thing  that  is  graved  on  your  mind  with  hot 
irons.  Do  it  again?  Of  course  they'll  do  it  again. 
A  docile  people,  I  grant  you,  but  they're  very 
fiends  when  they're  aroused.  They're  emotional, 
you  know,  the  French  of  the  Far  East,  and  when 

they  let  themselves  go "  He  paused,  and  I 

realised  that  he  had  seen  them  let  themselves  go, 
and  no  words  could  describe  the  horror  of  it. 
"Would  I  let  my  wife  and  children  live  in  one  of 
the  hu  t'ungs  of  Peking?  Would  I?  How  would 
they  get  away  when  the  trouble  commenced  ?  " 

The  chances  are  they  couldn't  get  away.  The 
hu  t'ungs  of  Peking  are  narrow  alley-ways  running 
out  from  the  main  thoroughfares,  and  the  houses 
there  are  built,  Chinese  fashion,  round  courtyards 


74  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

and  behind  blank  walls,  hidden  away  in  a  nest  of 
other  buildings,  and  the  difficulty  of  getting  out  and 
back  to  the  armed  Legation  Quarter,  when  a  mob 
were  out  bent  on  killing,  would  be  enormous. 

"A  Debt  Commission  spells  another  anti-foreign 
outbreak,  and  we're  within  an  ace  of  a  Debt  Com- 
mission," said  another  man  thoughtfully;  "and  if 
there  is  a  row  and  things  look  like  going  against  us, 
I  keep  one  cartridge  in  my  revolver  for  myself."  It 
does  not  seem  much  when  I  write  it  down,  such 
things  have  I  heard  carelessly  said  many  a  time 
before,  but  when  I,  a  foreigner  and  a  solitary  woman, 
was  contemplating  a  trip  up-country,  they  had  a 
somewhat  sinister  sound. 

On  the  other  hand  again  and  again  have  I  heard 
men  scout  all  idea  of  danger,  men  who  have  been 
up  and  down  the  country  for  years.  And  yet  but 
yesterday,  the  day  before  I  write  these  words,  a  man 
looked  at  his  pretty  young  wife,  she  was  sweetly 
pretty,  and  vowed  vehemently,  "  I  would  not  leave 
my  wife  and  child  alone  for  a  night  in  our  house 
just  outside  the  Quarter  for  anything  on  earth.  If 

anything  did  happen — and  it  might "  and  he 

dropped  his  voice.  There  are  some  things  that  will 
not  bear  thinking  about,  and  he  had  seen  the  looting 
of  Nanking  and  the  unfortunates  who  had  died  when 
they  took  the  Woosung  Forts.  "  We  went  to  look 
after  the  wounded,"  said  he,  "  and  there  weren't 
any  wounded.  The  savage  Northern  soldiery  had 
seen  to  that."  And  those  whom  they  mutilated 
were  their  own  people!  What  would  they  do  to  a 
foreigner  in  the  event  of  an  anti-foreign  outbreak  ? 

"  Are  you  afraid  ? "  I  asked  a  man  who  certainly 
lived  far  enough  away  in  the  city. 


LEGATION  QUARTER  OF   PEKING    75 

He  looked  at  me  curiously,  as  if  he  were  going 
to  say  there  was  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,  and  then  he 
changed  his  mind. 

"  Perhaps  I  am  when  I  think  of  it,"  said  he  ;  "  but 
then  you  see,  I  don't  think  of  it." 

And  that  is  the  average  attitude,  the  necessary 
attitude,  because  no  man  can  perpetually  brood  over 
the  dangers  that  might  assail  him.  Certain  pre- 
cautions he  takes  to  safeguard  himself,  here  are  the 
nations  armed  to  the  teeth  in  the  heart  of  a  friendly 
country,  and  for  the  rest  Quien  sabe? 

And  I  talked  with  all  men,  and  while  I  was 
making  preparations  to  go  into  the  interior,  had  the 
good-fortune  to  see  a  quaint  and  curious  pageant 
that  took  me  back  to  Biblical  days  and  made  me 
remember  how  Vashti  the  Queen  was  cast  down, 
and  the  beautiful  Esther  found  favour  in  the  sight 
of  her  lord,  and  how  another  tragic  Hebrew  Queen, 
going  down  to  posterity  with  a  name  unjustly 
smirched  and  soiled,  had  once  painted  her  face  and 
tired  her  head,  and  looking  out  of  the  window  had 
defied  to  the  death  her  unfaithful  servant.  "  Had 
Zimri  peace  who  slew  his  master  ? " 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  FUNERAL  OF  AN  EMPRESS 

A  good  republican — The  restricted  Empire  of  the  Manchus — 
Condign  punishment — Babylon — An  Adventurous  Chinaman — 
The  entrance  to  the  Forbidden  City — The  courtyards  of  Baby- 
lon— A  discordant  and  jarring  note — Choirs  of  priests — A 
living  Buddha — "  The  Swanee  River  " — The  last  note  in 
bathos — Palace  eunuchs — Out  of  hand — Afternoon  tea — The 
funeral  procession — The  imperial  bier — Quaint  and  strange 
and  Eastern. 

THE  Dowager- Empress  of  China,  the  unloved  wife 
and  widow  of  the  late  Emperor,  died,  so  they  gave 
out  to  the  world,  on  the  22nd  February,  1913,  the 
day  I  arrived  in  China.  As  Empress,  just  one  of 
the  women  of  the  Court  chosen  to  please  the  ruler 
and  to  bear  him  children,  his  consort  in  China  never 
seems  to  have  had  any  particular  standing.  This 
Empress  was  overshadowed  by  her  aunt,  the  great 
Dowager-Empress  whom  all  the  world  knew,  but 
once  the  Emperor  was  dead,  as  one  of  the  guardians 
of  the  baby  Emperor  she  came  into  a  certain  amount 
of  power,  for  the  position  of  Dowager- Empress 
seems  to  be  an  official  one  as,  since  her  death, 
another  woman  who  has  never  been  wife  to  an 
Emperor  has  been  appointed  to  the  post. 

The  power  has  gone  from  the  Manchus,  but  China 
is  wedded  to  her  past,  nothing  passes,  so  even  the 
Chinese  Republic,  the  men  who  barely  a  year  before 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  AN  EMPRESS  77 

had  ousted  the  Empress  from  her  high  estate,  united 
in  doing  her  honour  at  her  obsequies. 

"  She  was  the  best  republican  of  us  all,"  said  a 
Chinese  gentleman,  learned  in  the  lore  and  civilisa- 
tion of  the  West,  "  for  she  freely  gave  up  her  position 
that  China  might  be  free." 

It  was  a  pretty  way  of  putting  it,  but  to  me  it  seems 
doubtful  whether  anyone  in  over-civilised  China 
trammelled  with  many  conventions,  is  free,  and  it  is 
hardly  likely  that  a  woman  bred  to  think  she  had 
attained  the  most  important  position  in  the  world 
that  can  fall  to  a  woman's  lot,  would  give  it  up  freely 
for  the  good  of  a  people  she  knew  absolutely  nothing 
about.  All  the  Manchus  rule  over  now  are  the 
courtyards  and  palaces  of  the  Forbidden  City,  and 
there  they  are  supreme.  It  is  whispered  that  only  a 
week  before  the  day  of  which  I  write,  a  man  was 
there  beaten  to  death  for  having  stolen  something 
belonging  to  the  dead  Empress.  So  much  for  the 
love  of  the  Manchus  for  freedom  and  enlightenment. 
It  carries  one  back  to  the  Middle  Ages — further,  to 
Babylon. 

They  slew  there  mercilessly,  and  they  also  feasted 
— so  did  the  representatives  of  the  dead  Empress 
hold  high  festival  in  her  honour. 

"  The  King  made  a  feast  unto  all  the  people  that 
were  present  in  Shushan  the  palace,  both  unto  great 
and  small,  seven  days,  in  the  Court  in  the  garden  of 
the  King's  palace. 

"Where  were  white,  green,  and  blue  hangings 
fastened  with  cords  of  fine  linen  and  purple  to  silver 
rings  and  pillars  of  marble,  the  beds  were  of  gold 
and  silver,  upon  a  pavement  of  red,  and  blue,  and 
white,  and  black  marble. 


78  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

"And  they  gave  them  drink  in  vessels  of  gold 
.  .  .  and  royal  wine  in  abundance,  according  to  the 
state  of  the  King." 

So  Ahasuerus  the  King  entertained  his  people  of 
Babylon,  when  Vashti  the  Queen  fell,  and  of  Baby- 
lon only  could  I  think  when,  first  I  entered  the 
Forbidden  City. 

Standing  on  the  walls  of  Peking,  a  city  of  the 
plain,  you  look  down  upon  twelve  square  miles  of 
grey-tiled  roofs,  the  roofs  of  one-storied  houses 
hidden  in  the  summertime  by  a  forest  of  trees,  but 
in  the  heart  of  the  city  are  high  buildings  that  stand 
out  not  only  by  reason  of  their  height  but  because 
the  roofs  of  golden-brown  tiles,  imperial  yellow, 
gleam  and  glow  in  the  sunlight.  This  is  the  For- 
bidden City  where  has  dwelt  for  hundreds  of  years 
the  Emperor  of  China,  often  he  must  have  been  the 
only  man  in  it,  and  always  it  was  closed  to  all  save 
the  immediate  following  of  the  Son  of  Heaven. 

I  never  realised  till  I  came  to  Peking  that  this 
forbidden  ground  was  just  as  much  an  object  of 
curiosity  to  the  Chinese  as  it  would  have  been  to 
any  European  nation. 

"  I  went  in  once,"  said  a  Chinese  gentleman  to 
me,  "when  I  was  a  young  man."  He  was  only 
forty  then. 

"  Were  you  invited  ? " 

"  No,  no.  I  went  secretly.  I  wanted  to  see  what 
it  was  like." 

"But  how?" 

"  I  got  the  dress  of  a  eunuch  and  I  slipped  in  early 
one  morning,  and  then,  when  I  got  in,  I  hardly  dared 
move  or  breathe  for  fear  someone  should  find  me 
out.  Then  when  no  one  took  any  notice  of  me  I 


PEKING  FROM  THE   WALL  IN  WINTER. 


ENTRANCE  TO  THE  FORBIDDEN  CITY. 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  AN  EMPRESS  79 

walked  about  and  saw  everything  I  could,  but  the 
last  hour  was  the  worst,  I  was  terrified  at  the  thought 
that  I  might  not  be  able  to  get  out." 

"  And  if  you  had  been  caught  ?  " 

He  looked  grave  even  then  at  the  remembrance 
of  that  bygone  desperate  adventure. 

"  Oh  death,  certainly." 

"Death?" 

"  Yes,  a  long  and  lingering  death,"  and  the 
thought  of  what  he  had  escaped  twenty  years  ago, 
was  on  his  face. 

I  looked  at  him  with  interest,  a  tall  stout  China- 
man with  his  hair  cut  short  in  the  modern  fashion, 
a  long  grey  robe  of  silk  reaching  to  his  feet,  and  a 
little  short  black  sleeveless  jacket  over  it.  He  did  not 
look,  pleasant  as  he  was,  as  if  he  would  ever  have 
dared  anything,  but  then  I  have  never  thought  of 
any  Chinaman  as  likely  to  risk  his  life  without  hope 
of  gain,  and  to  risk  it  for  mere  curiosity  as  a  man  of 
my  own  people  might  have  done!  It  was  throwing 
a  new  light  on  the  Chinese.  I  rather  admired  him 
and  then  I  found  he  was  Eastern  after  all. 

We  talked  of  Yuan  Shih  K'ai,  and  he,  being  of 
the  opposition  party,  expressed  his  opinion  freely, 
and,  considering  all  things,  very  boldly  about 
him. 

"  He  has  eighteen  wives,"  said  he  shaking  his  head 
as  if  this  was  the  unpardonable  sin  in  a  man  who 
desired  to  imitate  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
West. 

I  repeated  this  to  a  friend,  and  he  burst  out  laugh- 
ing. "  Why  the  old  sinner,"  said  he,  "  what's  he 
throwing  stones  for?  He's  got  seventeen  and  a  half 
himself!" 


80  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

So  it  seems  it  will  be  some  time  before  forbidden 
cities  on  a  small  scale  will  be  out  of  fashion  in  China. 

And  still,  in  these  days  of  the  Republic,  the  For- 
bidden City  of  the  Manchus  dominates  Peking. 

It  was  thrown  open  for  three  days  to  all  who  could 
produce  a  black  paper  chrysanthemum  with  five 
leaves,  red,  yellow,  blue,  black,  and  white,  fastened 
to  a  tab  of  white  paper  with  a  mourning  edge  and  an 
inscription  in  Chinese  characters.  The  foreigners 
had  theirs  from  their  Legations,  and  the  Chinese 
from  their  guilds.  And  those  Chinese — there  are 
many  of  them — who  are  so  unlucky  as  to  belong  to 
no  guild,  Chinese  of  the  humbler  sort,  were  shut  out, 
and  for  them  there  was  erected  on  the  great  marble 
bridge  in  front  of  the  southern  entrance,  a  pavilion 
of  gorgeous  orange  silk  enclosing  an  altar  with  offer- 
ings that  stood  before  a  picture  of  the  dead  Empress, 
so  that  all  might  pay  their  respects. 

I  pinned  my  badge  to  the  front  of  my  fur  coat, 
for  it  was  keen  and  cold  in  spite  of  the  brilliant  sun- 
shine, and  went  off  to  the  wrong  entrance,  the 
eastern  gate,  where  only  princes  and  notables  were 
admitted.  I  thought  it  strange  there  should  be  no 
sign  of  a  foreigner,  but  foreigners  in  Peking  can 
be  but  as  one  in  a  hundred  or  less,  so  undismayed, 
I  walked  straight  up  to  the  gate,  and  immediately  a 
row  of  palace  servants  clad  in  their  white  robes  of 
mourning,  clustered  before  the  sacred  place.  They 
talked  and  explained  vehemently,  and  with  perfect 
courtesy,  but  they  were  very  agitated,  and  though  I 
could  not  understand  one  word  they  said,  one  thing 
was  certain,  admitted  I  could  not  be  there.  So  I 
turned  to  the  southern  gate  and  there  it  seemed  all 
Peking  was  streaming. 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  AN  EMPRESS  81 

It  was  like  China  that  we  might  not  go  in  the 
direct  way. 

There  is  a  great  paved  way  through  the  Imperial 
City  alongside  a  canal  that  runs  between  marble- 
lined  banks,  but  on  the  principal  bridge  that  crosses 
it  was  erected  the  orange  silk  pavilion  for  the  poorer 
classes,  and  we,  the  wearers  of  the  black  chrysan- 
themum, hundreds  and  thousands  and  ten  thousands 
of  us,  had  to  turn  off  to  the  right  and  go  along  by  the 
tall,  pinkish  red  walls  till  we  came  to  the  great  arch- 
ways in  the  walls,  five  great  archways  filled  in  with 
doors  studded  with  great  brazen  knobs.  Usually 
they  were  fast  shut,  but  they  were  open  to-day, 
guarded  by  soldiers  in  full-marching  order,  soldiers 
of  the  New  Republic  in  modern  khaki  looking  out 
of  the  picture,  and  there  streamed  into  the  tunnel- 
like  entrance  as  curious  a  crowd  as  ever  I  set  eyes 
upon.  All  must  walk,  old  and  young,  great  and 
lowly,  representatives  of  the  mighty  nations  of  the 
world  and  tottering  Chinese  ladies  swaying  like 
"lilies  in  the  wind"  upon  their  maimed  feet,  only 
one  man,  a  Mongol  Prince,  an  Incarnation  of  a 
Buddha,  a  living  Buddha,  was  borne  in  in  a  sedan 
chair.  But  every  other  mortal  had  to  walk.  The 
tunnels  must  always  be  gloomy,  and,  even  on  that 
cold  day,  they  struck  chill  after  the  brilliant  sunlight, 
and  they  are  long,  for  the  walls,  just  here,  are 
about  ninety  feet  through,  so  might  the  entrances 
have  been  in  the  palace  of  Ahasuerus  the  King.  The 
courtyard  we  first  entered  had  a  causeway  running 
right  across  it  of  great  hewn  stones,  hewn  and  laid 
by  slave  labour,  when  all  men  bowed  before  the  Son 
of  Heaven,  hundreds  of  years  ago.  They  are  worn 
in  many  places  now,  worn  by  the  passing  of  many 

F 


82  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

feet,  and  still  more  worn  are  the  grey  Chinese  bricks 
that  pave  the  courtyard  on  either  side.  It  is  a  great 
courtyard  of  splendid  proportions.  In  front  of  us 
frowned  more  high  walls  of  pinkish  red,  topped  by 
the  buildings  that  can  be  seen  all  over  Peking, 
temples  or  halls  of  audience  with  golden-brown  tiled 
roofs  that  gleamed  in  the  sunlight,  and  on  either  side 
were  low  buildings  with  fronts  of  lattice-work  rather 
fallen  into  disrepair.  They  might  have  been  used 
as  guard-houses  or,  more  probably,  were  the  quarters 
of  the  six  thousand  or  so  of  eunuchs  that  the  dignity 
of  the  ruler  required  to  attend  upon  him.  There 
were  a  few  treesA  leafless  then  in  March,  but  there 
was  nothing  to  spoil  the  dignity  and  repose  of  every 
line.  A  great  mind  surely  conceived  this  entrance, 
and  great  must  have  been  the  minds  that  kept  it  so 
severely  simple.  If  it  be  the  heart  of  a  nation  then 
do  I  understand.  The  people  who  streamed  along 
the  causeway,  who  roamed  over  the  worn  brick 
pavement,  had,  as  a  rule,  delicate,  finely  formed 
hands  though  they  were  but  humble  craftsmen.  If 
the  hands  of  the  poorest  be  so  fine,  is  it  any  wonder 
that  the  picked  men  of  such  a  people,  their  very 
heart,  conceived  such  a  mighty  pile?  There  were 
more,  longer  and  gloomier  tunnels,  admitting  to  a 
still  greater  courtyard,  a  courtyard  that  must  be  at 
least  a  quarter  of  a  mile  across,  with  the  same  cause- 
way of  worn  stones  that  cry  out  the  tale  of  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  forgotten  slaves,  who  hewed  them  and 
dragged  them  into  place,  the  same  grey  pavement 
of  bricks,  the  same  tall  smooth  red  walls,  crowned 
over  the  gateway  with  temples,  rising  one  story  after 
another  till  the  tiled  roof  cuts  the  sky.  And  through 
a  third  set  of  tunnels  we  came  into  a  third  courtyard, 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  AN  EMPRESS  83 

the  courtyard  where  the  obsequies  were  being  held. 
The  third  courtyard  was  spacious  as  Trafalgar 
Square,  and  round  three  sides  was  a  wide  raised 
platform  of  stone  reached  by  broad  and  easy  ramps, 
and  all  across  it  ran  a  canal  held  in  by  marble  banks, 
crossed  by  graceful  bridges,  and  every  one  of  the 
uprights,  made  of  white  marble,  was  crowned  by  a 
figure  that  I  took  for  the  representation  of  a  flame ; 
but  those,  who  know,  tell  me  it  is  meant  to  represent 
a  cloud,  and  is  part  of  the  dragon  symbolism.  When 
marble  is  the  medium  by  which  so  light  a  thing  as  a 
cloud  is  represented  it  must  be  very  finely  done 
indeed,  when  one  outside  the  national  thought,  such 
as  I,  sees  in  that  representation  a  flame.  Two 
colossal  bronze  monsters  with  grinning  countenances 
and  curly  manes,  conventional  lions,  mounted  on 
dragon-carved  pedestals,  stand  before  the  entrance 
to  the  fourth  temple  or  hall  of  audience,  and  here 
was  what  the  crowd  had  come  to  see,  the  light- 
hearted,  cheerful,  merry  crowd,  that  were  making 
high  holiday,  here  was  the  altar  to  the  dead. 

Overhead  were  the  tiled  roofs,  and  of  all  the 
colours  of  the  rainbow  surely  none  could  have  been 
chosen  better  than  the  golden  brown  of  those  tiles 
to  harmonise  with  the  clear  blue  of  the  glorious  sky 
above  it,  no  line  to  cut  it  could  have  been  so  appro- 
priate as  the  gentle  sweep  of  the  curve  of  a  Chinese 
roof.  There  was  a  little  grass  growing  on  the  roofs, 
sere  and  withered,  but  a  faint  breeze  just  stirred  its 
tops,  and  it  toned  with  the  prevailing  golden  brown 
in  one  glorious  beauty.  Where  else  in  the  world 
could  one  get  such  an  effect?  Only  in  Australia 
have  I  seen  such  a  sky,  and  there  it  was  never 
wedded  to  such  a  glow  of  colour  as  that  it  looks  down 


84  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

upon  in  Peking.     The  men  who  built  this  palace  in 
a  bygone  age,  built  broadly,  truly,  for  all  time. 

And  then,  it  was  surely  as  if  some  envious  spirit 
had  entered  in  and  marred  all  this  loveliness — no, 
that  would  be  impossible,  but  struck  a  discordant  and 
jarring  note  that  should  perhaps  emphasise  in  our 
minds  the  beauty  that  is  eternal — for  all  the  front  of 
that  temple,  which  as  far  as  I  could  see  was  pinkish 
red,  with  under  the  eaves  that  beautiful  dark  blue, 
light  blue,  and  green,  that  the  Chinese  know  so  well 
how  to  mingle,  was  covered  with  the  most  garish, 
commonplace  decorations,  made  for  the  most  part  of 
paper,  red,  violent  Reckitt's  blue,  yellow,  and  white. 
From  every  point  of  vantage  ran  strings  of  flags, 
cheap  common  little  flags  of  all  nations,  bits  of 
string  were  tied  to  |the  marble  clouds,  and  they 
fluttered  from  them,  and  the  great  wonderful  bronze 
lions  contrived  to  look  coy  in  frills  that  would  not 
have  disgraced  a  Yorkshire  ham.  The  altar  on  the 
northern  platform  was  hidden  behind  a  trellis-work 
of  gaily  coloured  paper,  and  there  were  offerings 
upon  it  of  fruit  and  cakes  in  great  profusion,  all  set 
out  before  a  portrait  of  the  late  Empress.  On 
either  side  were  two  choirs  of  priests,  Buddhists  and 
Taoists  in  gorgeous  robes  of  red  and  orange.  What 
faith  the  dead  Empress  held  I  do  not  know,  but  the 
average  Chinese,  while  he  is  the  prince  of  material- 
ists, believing  nothing  he  cannot  see  and  explain, 
has  also  a  keen  eye  to  the  main  chance,  and  on  his 
death-bed  is  apt  to  summon  priests  of  all  faiths  so 
as  to  let  no  chance  of  a  comfortable  future  slip ;  but 
possibly  it  was  more  from  motives  of  policy  than 
from  any  idea  of  aiding  the  dead  woman  that  these 
representatives  of  the  two  great  faiths  of  China  were 


A  PATH  IN  THE  GROUNDS  OF  THE  WINTER  PALACE. 


A   SECLUDED   CORNER   OF     THE    WINTER    PALACE. 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  AN  EMPRESS  85 

summoned.  On  the  right^  behind  a  trellis-work  of 
bright  paper,  one  choir  sat  in  a  circle,  beat  gongs, 
struck  their  bells  and  intoned;  and  on  the  left, 
behind  a  like  trellis-work,  the  other  choir  knelt  before 
low  desks  and  also  solemnly  intoned.  Their  Mon- 
golian faces  were  very  impassive,  they  looked  neither 
to  the  right  nor  the  left,  but  kept  time  to  the  cease- 
less beat  of  their  leader's  stick  upon  a  globe  of  wood 
split  across  the  middle  like  a  gaping  mouth  emblem- 
atical of  a  fish  and  called  mu  yii — or  wooden  fish. 
What  were  they  repeating?  Prayers  for  the  dead? 
Eulogies  on  her  who  had  passed?  Or  comfort  for 
the  living?  Not  one  of  these  things.  Probably 
they  were  intoning  Scriptures  in  Tibetan,  an  un- 
known tongue  to  them  very  likely,  but  come  down 
to  them  through  the  ages  and  sanctified  by  thousands 
of  ceaseless  repetitions. 

And  the  people  came,  passed  up  the  steps,  bowed 
by  the  direction  of  the  usher — in  European  clothes — 
three  times  to  the  dead  Empress's  portrait,  and  the 
altar,  were  thanked  by  General  Chang,  the  Military 
Commandant,  and  passed  on  by  the  brightly  clad 
intoning  priests  down  into  the  crowd  in  the  great 
courtyard  again.  It  was  weird  to  find  myself  taking 
part  in  such  a  ceremony.  Stranger  still  to  watch  the 
people  who  went  up  and  down  those  steps.  In  all 
the  world  surely  never  was  such  an  extraordinary 
funeral  gathering.  I  am  very  sure  that  never  shall 
I  attend  such  another.  There  was  such  a  mingling 
of  the  ancient  and  the  blatantly  modern.  To  the 
sound  of  weird,  archaic,  Eastern  music  the  living 
Buddha,  clad  all  in  yellow,  in  his  yellow  sedan  chair, 
borne  by  four  bearers  in  dark  blue  with  Tartar  caps 
on  their  heads,  made  his  reverence,  and  was  followed 


86  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

by  a  band  of  Chinese  children  from  some  American 
mission  school,  who,  with  misguided  zeal  sang  fer- 
vently   at   the    top    of   their   shrill    childish    voices 
"  Down  by  the  Swanee   River "  and  "  Auld   Lang 
Syne,"    and   then    soldiers    in    modern    uniform    of 
khaki  or  bright  blue  were  followed  by  police  officers 
in  black  and  gold.     The  wrong  note  was  struck  by 
the  "  Swanee  River,"  the  high  officials  dwelt  upon  it, 
for  the  Chinese  does  not  look  to  advantage  in  these 
garbs,  he  looks  what  he  is^  makeshift,  a  bad  imita- 
tion,  and  the  jarring  was  only  relieved  when  the 
Manchu  princes  came  in  white  mourning  sheepskins 
and  black  Tartar  caps.     They  may  be  dissolute  and 
decadent,  have  all  the  vices  that  new  China  accuses 
them    of,    but   at   least   they   looked   polished    and 
dignified  gentlemen,  at  their  ease  and  in  their  place. 
It  does  not  matter,  possibly.     The  President  once 
said  that  to  petition  for  a  monarchy  was  an  act  of 
fanaticism  worthy  of  being  punished  by  imprison- 
ment, and  so  the  old  order  must  in  a  measure  pass ; 
even  in  China,  the  unchanging,  there  must  come,  it 
is  a  law  of  nature,  some  little  change,  and  when  I 
looked  at  the  bows  and  arrows  of  the  Manchu  guard 
leaning  against  the  wall  I  realised  that  it  would  be 
impossible  to  keep   things   as  they  were,   however 
picturesque.     Still  khaki  uniforms,  if  utilitarian,  are 
ugly,  and  American  folk-songs,  under  such  condi- 
tions, struck  the  last  note  in  bathos,  or  pathos.     It 
depends  on  the  point  of  view. 

On  the  white  paper  tabs,  attached  to  our  black 
chrysanthemums,  was  written  something  about  the 
New  Republic,  but  it  might  have  been  the  spirit  of 
the  Empress  at  home,  so  cheerful  and  bent  on 
enjoyment  was  the  crowd  which  thronged  the 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  AN  EMPRESS  87 

courtyard.  The  bands  played,  sometimes  Eastern 
music,  strange  and  haunting,  sometimes  airs  from 
the  European  operas,  there  were  various  tents 
erected  with  seats  and  tables,  and  refreshments  were 
served,  oranges,  and  ginger,  and  tea,  and  cakes  of 
all  kinds,  both  in  the  tents  and  at  little  altar-like 
stands  dotted  about  the  courtyard  even  at  the  very 
foot  of  the  pedestals  of  the  great  conventional  lions. 
And  the  people  walked  round  looking  at  everything, 
peeping  through  every  crevice  in  the  hopes  of  seeing 
some  part  of  the  palace  that  was  not  open  to  them, 
chatting,  laughing,  greeting  each  other  as  they 
would  have  done  at  a  garden-party  in  Europe. 
There  were  all  sorts  of  people,  dressed  in  all  sorts 
of  fashions.  New  China  looked  at  best  common- 
place and  ordinary  in  European  clothes ;  old  China 
was  dignified  in  a  queue,  silken  jacket  and  brocaded 
petticoat,  generally  of  a  lighter  colour;  Manchu 
ladies  wore  high  head-dresses  and  brilliant  silken 
coats,  blue  or  pink,  lavender  or  grey,  and  Chinese 
ladies  tottered  along  on  tiny,  bound  feet  that 
reminded  me  of  the  hoofs  of  a  deer,  and  the  most 
fashionable,  unmarried  girls  wore  short  coats  with 
high  collars  covering  their  chins,  and  tight-fitting 
trousers,  often  of  gaily  coloured  silk,  while  the  older 
women  added  skirts,  and  the  poorer  classes  just 
wore  a  long  coat  of  cotton,  generally  blue,  with 
trousers  tightly  girt  in  at  the  ankles,  and  their 
maimed  feet  in  tiny  little  embroidered  shoes. 
European  dress  the  Chinese  woman  very  seldom 
affects  yet,  and  their  jet  black  hair,  plastered 
together  with  some  sort  of  substance  that  makes 
it  smooth  and  shiny,  is  never  covered,  but  flowers 
and  jewelled  pins  are  stuck  in  it.  Occasionally — I 


88  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

did  on  this  day — you  will  see  a  woman  with  a  black 
embroidered  band  round  the  front  of  her  head,  but 
this,  I  think,  denotes  that  she  is  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  faith,  for  the  Roman  Catholics  have  been  in 
China  far  longer  than  any  other  Christian  sect,  and 
they  invented  this  head-dress  for  the  Chinese  woman 
who  for  ages  has  been  accustomed  to  wear  none, 
because  of  the  Pauline  injunction,  that  it  was  a 
shame  for  a  woman  to  appear  in  a  church  with  her 
head  uncovered.  Old  China  did  not  approve  of  a 
woman  going  about  much  at  all,  and  here  at  this 
funeral  I  heard  many  old  China  hands  remarking 
how  strange  it  was  to  see  so  many  women  mingling 
with  the  throng.  It  marked  the  change ;  but  such  a 
very  short  time  back,  such  a  thing  would  have  been 
impossible. 

There  were  numbers  of  palace  eunuchs  too — 
keepers  of  the  women  who,  apparently,  may  now 
show  their  faces  to  all  men,  and  they  were  clad  all 
in  the  mourning  white,  with  here  and  there  one,  for 
some  reason  or  other  I  cannot  fathom,  in  black. 
The  demand  for  eunuchs  was  great  when  the 
Emperor  dwelt,  the  one  man,  in  the  Forbidden  City 
surrounded  by  his  women,  and  they  say  that  very 
often  the  number  employed  rose  to  ten  thousand. 
Constantly,  as  some  in  the  ranks  grew  old,  fell  sick, 
or  died,  they  had  to  be  replaced,  and,  so  conserva- 
tive is  China,  the  recruits  were  generally  drawn  from 
certain  villages  whose  business  it  was  to  supply  the 
palace  eunuchs.  Often,  of  course,  the  operation 
was  performed  in  their  infancy,  but  often,  very  often, 
a  man  was  allowed  to  grow  up,  marry,  and  have 
children,  before  he  was  made  ready  for  the  palace. 

"  Impossible,"    I    said,    "  he    would    not    consent 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  AN  EMPRESS  89 

then.  Never."  And  my  informant  laughed  piti- 
fully. "  Ah,"  said  she,  "  you  don't  know  the  struggle 
in  China.  Anything  for  a  livelihood." 

Some  of  the  eunuchs  wanted  their  photographs 
taken,  and  I  was  willing  enough  if  they  would  only 
give  me  room.  I  wanted  one  in  white,  but  they 
desired  one  in  black,  either  because  he  was  the  most 
important  or  the  least  important,  I  know  not  which, 
and  they  sat  him  on  a  stone  that  had  been  a  seat 
perhaps  when  Kublai  Khan  built  the  palace ;  and 
the  keeper  of  the  women,  the  representative  of  the 
old  cruel  past,  that  pressed  men  and  women  alike 
into  the  service  of  the  great,  looked  in  my  camera 
sheepish  as  a  schoolboy  kissed  in  public  by  his 
maiden  aunt. 

There  were  coolies,  too,  in  the  ordinary  blue 
cotton  busy  about  the  work  that  the  entertaining  of 
such  a  multitude  necessarily  entails,  and  everyone 
looked  cheerful  and  happy,  as,  after  all,  why  should 
they  not,  for  death  is  the  common  lot,  and  must 
come  to  all  of  us,  and  they  had  seen  and  heard  of 
the  dead  Empress  about  as  much  as  the  dweller  in 
Chicago  had.  They  were  merely  taking  what  she, 
or  her  representatives,  gave  with  frank  goodwill, 
and  enjoying  themselves  accordingly. 

Against  the  walls  they  kept  putting  up  long  scrolls 
covered  with  Chinese  characters,  sentences  in  praise 
of  the  virtues  of  the  Empress,  and  sent,  as  we  would 
send  funeral  wreaths,  to  honour  the  dead,  and 
presently  a  wind  arose  and  tore  at  them  and  they 
fluttered  out  from  the  walls  like  long  streamers,  and 
as  the  wind  grew  wilder,  some  were  torn  down 
altogether.  But  that  was  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
second  day,  when  worse  things  happened. 


90  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

I  went  down  to  the  Forbidden  City  after  tiffin, 
and  behold,  outside  the  great  gates,  looking  up 
longingly  and  murmuring  a  little,  was  a  great 
crowd  that  grew  momentarily  greater.  The  doors, 
studded  with  brazen  nails,  were  fast  closed,  and 
little  parties  of  soldiers  with  their  knapsacks  upon 
their  backs  were  evidently  telling  the  crowd  to  keep 
back,  and  very  probably,  since  it  was  China,  the 
reason  why  they  should  keep  back.  The  reason 
was,  of  course,  lost  upon  me,  I  only  knew  that, 
before  I  realised  what  was  happening,  I  was  in  the 
centre  of  a  crushing  crowd  that  was  gradually 
growing  more  unmanageable.  A  Chinese  crowd  is 
wonderfully  good-natured,  far  better-tempered  than 
a  European  crowd  of  a  like  size  would  be,  but  when 
a  crowd  grows  great,  it  is  hardly  responsible  for  its 
actions.  Besides,  a  Chinese  crowd  has  certain 
little  unpleasant  habits.  The  men  picked  up  the 
little  children,  for  the  tiniest  tots  came  to  this  great 
festival,  and  held  them  on  their  shoulders,  but  they 
coughed,  and  hawked,  and  spit,  and  wiped  their 
noses  in  the  primitive  way  Adam  probably  did 
before  he  thought  of  using  a  fig-leaf  as  a  pocket 
handkerchief,  and  at  last  I  felt  that  the  only  thing 
to  be  done  was  to  edge  my  way  to  the  fringe  of  the 
press,  because,  even  if  the  doors  were  opened,  it 
would  have  seemed  like  taking  my  life  in  my  hands 
to  go  into  one  of  those  tunnels  with  their  uneven 
pavements  in  such  a  crush.  Once  down  it  would 
be  hopeless  to  think  of  getting  up  again. 

After  a  time,  however,  they  did  open  the  doors, 
and  the  people  surged  in.  When  all  was  clear  I 
followed,  and  once  inside  heard  how  the  people  in 
the  great  courtyard,  in  spite  of  police  and  soldiers, 


CAMELS    IN    MORRISON    STREET. 


MAKING  CAKES,  STREET  IN  PEKING. 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  AN   EMPRESS     91 

had  swarmed  up  and  threatened  by  their  rush,  the 
good-natured,  purposeless  rush  of  a  crowd,  to  carry 
away  offerings,  altar,  choirs  and  decorations,  and, 
very  naturally,  those  in  authority  had  closed  the 
doors  against  all  new-comers  until  the  people  had 
been  got  well  in  hand  again.  It  had  taken  some 
time.  Before  the  altar  was  a  regular  scrimmage, 
and  after  the  crowd  had  passed  it  left  behind  it, 
shoes,  and  caps,  and  portions  of  its  clothing  which 
were  thrown  back  into  the  courtyard  to  be  gathered 
up  by  those  who  could  recognise  their  own  property. 
By  the  time  I  arrived  things  were  settling  down. 
We  had  to  wait  in  the  second  courtyard,  and  the 
women,  Chinese  ladies  with  their  little  aching  feet, 
and  Manchus  in  their  high  head-dresses  sat  them- 
selves down  on  the  edge  of  the  causeway,  because 
standing  on  pavement  is  wearisome,  and  there 
waited  patiently  till  the  doors  were  opened,  and 
inside  everything  was  soon  going  again  as  gaily  as 
at  an  ordinary  garden-party  in  Somerset. 

"  Do  you  like  Chinese  tea  ? "  asked  a  Chinese  lady 
of  me  in  slow  and  stilted  English.  I  said  I  did. 

"Come,"  said  she,  taking  my  hand  in  her  cold 
little  one,  and  hand  in  hand  we  walked,  or  rather  I 
walked  and  she  tottered,  across  to  one  of  the  great 
pavilions  that  had  been  erected,  and  there  she  sat 
me  down  and  a  cup  of  the  excellent  tea  was  brought 
me,  and  every  one  of  the  Chinese  ladies  present, 
out  of  the  kindly  hospitality  of  her  heart  towards  the 
lonely  foreigner,  gave  me,  with  her  own  fair  and 
shapely  little  hands,  a  cake  from  the  dish  that  was 
set  before  us  by  a  white-clad  servant.  Frankly,  I 
wished  they  wouldn't  be  so  hospitable.  I  wanted 
to  say  I  was  quite  capable  of  choosing  my  own  cake, 


92  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

and  that  I  had  a  rooted  objection  to  other  people 
pawing  the  food  I  intended  to  eat,  but  it  seemed  it 
might  be  rude,  and  I  did  not  wish  to  nip  kindly 
feelings  in  the  bud.  And  then,  as  the  evening 
shadows  drew  long,  I  went  back  to  my  hotel,  sorry 
to  leave  the  Forbidden  City,  glad  to  have  had  this 
one  little  glimpse  of  the  strange  and  wonderful  that 
is  bound  to  pass  away. 

The  Empress  died  in  February,  in  March  they 
held  this,  can  we  call  it  lying-in-state,  but  it  was  not 
till  the  3rd  of  April  that  her  funeral  cortege  moved 
from  the  Forbidden  City,  and  the  streets  of  Peking 
were  thronged  with  those  who  came  to  pay  her 
respect.  Did  they  mourn?  Well,  I  don't  know. 
Hardly,  I  think,  was  it  mourning  in  the  technical 
sense.  The  man  in  the  street  in  England  is  far 
enough  away  from  the  king  on  the  throne,  but  in 
China  it  seems  as  if  he  might  inhabit  a  different 
sphere. 

The  sky  was  a  cloudless  blue,  and  the  bright 
golden  sunshine  poured  down  hot  as  a  July  day  in 
England,  or  a  March  day  in  Australia,  there  was 
not  a  wisp  of  cloud  in  the  sky ;  in  all  the  five  weeks 
that  I  had  been  in  China  there  had  never  been  the 
faintest  indication  that  such  a  thing  was  ever 
expected,  ever  known,  but  at  first  the  brilliancy  had 
been  cold,  now  it  was  warm,  the  winter  was  past, 
and  from  the  great  Tartar  wall,  looking  over  the 
Tartar  City — the  city  that  the  Mings  conquered  and 
the  Manchus  made  their  own — the  forest  of  trees 
that  hid  the  furthest  houses  was  all  tinged  with  the 
faintest,  daintiest  green;  and  soon  to  the  glory  of 
blue  and  gold,  the  blue  of  the  sky  and  the  gold  of 
the  sunshine,  would  be  added  the  vivid  green  that 


THE  FUNERAL   OF  AN   EMPRESS     93 

tells  of  the  new-born  life.  And  one  woman  who 
had  held  high  place  here,  one  sad  woman,  who  had 
missed  most  that  was  good  in  fife,  if  rumours  be 
true,  was  to  be  carried  to  her  long  home  that 
day. 

The  funeral  procession  started  from  the  Eastern 
Gate  of  the  Forbidden  City,  came  slowly  down  the 
broad  street  known  now  as  Morrison  Street,  turned 
into  the  way  that  passes  the  Legations  and  runs 
along  by  the  glacis  whereon  the  conquering  Western 
nations  have  declared  that,  for  their  safety,  no 
Chinese  shall  build  a  house,  the  Europeans  call  it 
the  Viale  d'ltalia,  because  it  passes  by  the  Italian 
Legation,  and  the  Chinese  by  the  more  eupho- 
nious name  of  Chang  an  Cheeh — the  street  of 
Eternal  Repose — a  curious  Commentary  on  the 
fighting  that  went  on  there  in  1900,  into  the  Chien 
Men  Street,  that  is  the  street  of  the  main  gate 
through  which  it  must  go  to  the  railway  station. 

It  seemed  to  me  strange  this  ruler  of  an  ancient 
people,  buried  with  weird  and  barbaric  rites,  was  to 
be  taken  to  her  last  resting-place  by  the  modern 
railway,  that  only  a  very  few  years  ago  her 
people,  at  the  height  of  their  anti-foreign  feeling, 
had  wished  to  oust  from  the  country — root  and 
branch.  But  since  the  funeral  procession  was  going 
to  the  railway  station  it  must  pass  through  the  Chien 
Men,  and  the  curtain  wall  that  ran  round  the  great 
gate  offered  an  excellent  point  of  vantage  from 
which  I,  with  the  rest  of  the  European  population, 
might  see  all  there  was  to  be  seen.  And  for  this 
great  occasion,  the  gate  in  the  south  of  the  curtain 
wall,  the  gate  that  is  always  shut  because  only  the 
highest  in  the  land  may  pass  through,  was  open, 


94  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

for  the  highest  in  the  land,  the  last  of  the  Manchu 
rulers,  was  dead. 

I  looked  down  into  the  walled-in  space  between 
the  four  gateway  arches,  as  into  an  arena,  and  the 
whole  pageant  passed  below  me.  First  of  all 
marching  with  deliberate  slowness,  that  contrives  to 
be  dignified  if  they  are  only  carrying  coals,  came 
about  twenty  camels  draped  in  imperial  yellow  with 
tails  of  sable,  also  an  imperial  badge  hanging  from 
their  necks.  The  Manchus  were  a  hunting  people, 
and  though  they  have  been  dwellers  in  towns  for 
the  last  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  the  fact  was  not 
forgotten  now  that  their  last  ruler  had  died.  She 
was  going  on  a  journey,  a  long,  long  journey;  she 
might  want  to  rest  by  the  way,  therefore  her  camels 
bore  tent-poles  and  tents  of  the  imperial  colour. 
They  held  their  heads  high  and  went  noiselessly 
along,  pad,  pad,  pad,  as  their  like  have  gone  to  and 
fro  from  Peking  for  thousands  of  years.  Mongol, 
or  Manchu,  or  son  of  Han,  it  is  all  the  same  to  the 
camel.  He  ministers  to  man's  needs  because  he 
must,  but  he  himself  is  unchanging  as  the  ages,  fixed 
in  his  way  as  the  sky  above,  whether  he  bears  grain 
from  the  north,  or  coal  from  the  Western  Hills,  or 
tents  and  drapery  for  an  imperial  funeral.  Then 
there  were  about  fifty  white  ponies,  without  saddle 
or  trapping  of  any  kind,  each  led  by  a  mafoo  clad 
in  blue  like  an  ordinary  coolie.  The  Peking  carts 
that  followed  with  wheels  and  tilts  of  yellow  were  of 
a  past  age,  but,  after  all,  does  not  the  King  of  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland  on  State  occasions  ride  in  a 
most  old-world  coach.  And  then  I  noticed  things 
came  in  threes.  Three  carts,  three  yellow  palan- 
keens full  of  artificial  flowers,  three  sedan  chairs 


In 


THE  CHIEN  MEN   FROM   THE   CURTAIN   WALL. 
(See  page  93) 


LOU  NEAR  THE  AMERICAN  LEGATION. 
(See  page  60) 


THE  FUNERAL   OF  AN   EMPRESS     95 

also  yellow  covered,  and  all  around  these  groups 
were  attendants  clad  in  shimmering  rainbow  muslin 
and  thick  felt  hats,  from  the  pointed  crown  of  which 
projected  long  yellow  feathers.  Slowly,  slowly,  the 
procession  moved  on,  broken  now  and  again  by 
bands  of  soldiers  in  full  marching  order.  There 
was  a  troop  of  cavalry  of  the  Imperial  Guard  they 
told  me,  but  how  could  it  be  imperial  when  their 
five-coloured  lance  pennons  fluttering  gaily  in  the 
air,  clearly  denoted  the  New  Republic  ?  There  was 
a  detachment  of  mounted  police  in  black  and  yellow 
— the  most  modern  of  uniforms — there  were  more 
attendants  in  gaily  coloured  robes  carrying  wooden 
halberds,  embroidered  fans,  banners,  and  umbrellas, 
and  the  yellow  palankeens  with  the  artificial  flowers 
were  escorted  by  Buddhist  lamas  in  yellow  robes 
crossed  with  crimson  sashes,  each  with  a  stick  of 
smouldering  incense  in  his  hand.  In  those  palan- 
keens were  the  dead  woman's  seals,  her  power,  the 
power  that  she  must  now  give  up.  I  could  see  the 
smoke,  and  the  scent  of  the  incense  rose  to  our 
nostrils  as  we  stood  on  the  wall  forty  feet  above. 
Between  the  various  groups,  between  the  yellow 
lamas  who  dated  from  the  days  of  the  Buddha  long 
before  the  Christ,  between  the  khaki-clad  troops  and 
the  yellow  and  black  police,  things  of  yesterday, 
came  palace  attendants  tossing  into  the  air  white 
paper  discs.  The  dead  Empress  would  want  money 
for  her  journey,  and  here  it  was,  distributed  with  a 
lavish  hand.  It  was  only  white  paper,  blank  and 
soiled  by  the  dust  of  the  road,  when  I  picked  it  up  a 
little  later  on,  but  for  her  it  would  serve  all  purposes. 
The  approach  of  the  bier  itself  was  heralded  by 
the  striking  together  of  two  slabs  of  wood  by  a 


96  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

couple  of  attendants,  and  before  it  came,  clad  all  in 
the  white  of  mourning,  the  palace  eunuchs  who  had 
guarded  her  privacy  when  in  life;  a  few  Court 
attendants  in  black,  and  then  between  lines  of  khaki- 
uniformed  modern  infantry  in  marching  order,  the 
bier  covered  with  yellow  satin,  vivid,  brilliant, 
embroidered  with  red  phoenixes  that  marked  her 
high  rank — the  dragon  for  the  Emperor,  the  phoenix 
for  his  consort.  The  two  pieces  of  wood  clacked 
together  harshly  and  the  enormous  bier  moved  on. 
It  was  mounted  on  immense  yellow  poles  and  borne 
by  eighty  men  dressed  in  brilliant  robes  of  varie- 
gated muslin,  red  being  the  predominating  colour. 
They  wore  hats  with  yellow  feathers  coming  out  of 
the  crown,  and  they  staggered  under  their  burden, 
as  might  the  slaves  in  Nineveh  or  Babylon  have 
faltered  and  groaned  beneath  their  burdens,  two 
thousand  years  ago. 

Out  of  the  northern  archway  came  the  camels  and 
the  horses,  the  soldiers,  the  lamas,  the  eunuchs,  out 
came  all  the  quaint  gay  paraphernalia — umbrellas, 
and  fans,  palankeens,  and  sedan  chairs,  and  banners 
— and  slowly  crossed  the  great  courtyard,  the  arena ; 
a  stop,  a  long  pause,  then  on  again,  and  the  southern 
gate  swallowed  them  up,  again  the  clack  of  the  strips 
of  wood,  and  the  mighty  bier,  borne  on  the  shoulders 
of  the  Babylonish  slaves.  Slowly,  slowly,  then  it 
stood  still,  and  we  felt  as  if  it  must  stay  there  for 
ever,  as  if  the  eighty  men  who  upheld  it  must  be 
suffering  unspeakable  things.  Once  more  the  clack 
of  the  strips  of  wood,  and  the  southern  archway  in 
due  course  swallowed  it  up,  too,  with  the  few  halber- 
diers and  the  detachment  of  soldiery  who  completed 
the  procession. 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  AN  EMPRESS  97 

Outside  the  Chien  Men  was  the  railway  station, 
the  crowded  people — crowded  like  Chinese  flies  in 
summer,  and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal — were 
cleared  away  by  the  soldiers,  the  bier  was  lifted  on 
to  a  car,  the  bands  struck  up  a  weird  funeral  march, 
the  soldiers  presented  arms,  the  lama  priests  fell  on 
their  knees,  and  then  very,  very  slowly  the  train 
steamed  out  of  the  station,  and  the  last  of  the  Manchu 
Empresses  was  borne  to  her  long  home. 

Was  it  impressive  I  asked  myself  as  I  went  down 
the  ramp?  And  the  answer  was  a  little  difficult  to 
find.  Quaint  and  strange  and  Eastern,  for  the 
thing  that  has  struck  me  so  markedly  in  China  was 
here  marked  as  ever.  It  was  like  the  paper  money 
that  was  thrown  with  such  lavish  generosity  into  the 
air.  Amongst  all  the  magnificence  was  the  bizarre 
note — that  discordant  touch  of  tawdriness.  Beneath 
the  gorgeous  robes  of  the  attendants,  plainly  to  be 
seen,  were  tatters  and  uncleanliness,  the  soldiers  in 
their  ill-fitting  uniforms  looked  makeshift,  and  the 
police  wanted  dusting.  And  yet — and  again  I  must 
say  and  yet,  for  want  of  better  words — behind  it  all 
was  some  reality,  something  that  gripped  like  the 
haunting  sound  of  the  dirge,  or  the  stately  march  of 
the  camels  that  have  defied  all  change. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A    TIME    OF    REJOICING 

The  charm  of  Peking— A  Chinese  theatre— Electric  light— The 
custodian  of  the  theatre— Bargaining  for  a  seat— The 
orchestra — The  scenery  of  Shakespeare — Realistic  gesture— A 
city  wall — A  mountain  spirit — Gorgeous  dresses — Bundles  of 
towels — Women's  gallery — Armed  patrols — Rain  in  April — 
The  food  of  the  peasant— Famine— The  value  of  a  daughter 
— God  be  thanked. 

THE  Legation  Quarter  in  Peking,  as  I  was  reminded 
twenty  times  a  day,  is  not  China,  it  is  not  even 
Peking,  but  it  is  a  pleasant  place  in  which  to  stay ; 
a  place  where  one  may  foregather  and  exchange 
ideas  with  one's  kind,  and  yet  whence  one  may  go 
forth  and  see  all  Peking;  more,  may  see  places 
where  still  the  foreigner  is  something  to  be  stared 
at,  and  wondered  at,  and  where  the  old,  unchanging 
civilisation  still  goes  on.  Ordinarily  if  you  would 
see  something  new,  something  that  gives  a  fresh 
sensation,  it  is  necessary  to  go  out  from  among  your 
kind  and  brave  discomfort,  or  spend  a  small  fortune 
to  guard  against  that  discomfort,  but  here,  in  Peking, 
you  who  are  interested  in  such  things  may  see  an 
absolutely  new  world,  and  yet  have  all  the  comforts, 
except  reading  matter,  to  which  you  have  been 
accustomed  in  London.  It  was  no  wonder  I 
lingered  in  Peking.  Always  there  was  something 


GILDED    SHOP-FRONT,    PEKING. 


CORNER   IN   PEKING PAWNSHOP. 


A  TIME   OF  REJOICING  99 

new  to  see,  always  there  was  something  fresh  to 
learn,  and  at  any  moment,  within  five  minutes,  I 
could  step  out  into  another  world,  the  world  of  Marco 
Polo,  the  world  the  Jesuit  Fathers  saw  when  first 
the  Western  nations  were  beginning  to  realise  there 
were  any  countries  besides  their  own. 

There  are  people — I  have  heard  them — who 
complain  that  Peking  is  dull.  Do  not  believe  them. 
But,  after  all,  perhaps  I  am  not  the  best  judge.  As 
a  young  girl,  trammelled  by  trying  to  do  the  correct 
thing  and  behave  as  a  properly  brought  up  young 
lady  ought,  I  have  sometimes,  say  at  an  afternoon 
call  when  I  hope  I  was  behaving  prettily,  found 
life  dull,  but  since  I  have  gone  my  own  way  I  have 
been  sad  sometimes,  lonely  often,  but  dull  never, 
and  for  that  God  be  thanked.  But  Peking,  I  think, 
would  be  a  very  difficult  place  in  which  to  be  really 
dull. 

It  is  even  possible  to  go  to  the  theatre  every  night, 
but  it  is  a  Chinese  theatre  and  that  will  go  a  long 
way.  Nevertheless,  I  felt  it  was  .a  thing  I  should 
like  to  see ;  so  one  evening  two  of  my  friends  took 
me  to  the  best  theatre  that  was  open.  The  best  was 
closed  for  political  reasons  they  said,  because  the 
new  Government,  not  as  sure  of  itself  as  it  would  like 
to  be,  did  not  wish  the  people  to  assemble  together. 
This  was  a  minor  theatre,  a  woman's  theatre;  that 
is  one  where  only  women  were  the  actors,  quite  a 
new  departure  in  the  Celestial  world,  for  until  about 
a  year  before  the  day  of  which  I  write,  no  woman 
was  ever  seen  upon  the  stage,  and  her  parts,  as  they 
were  in  the  old  days  in  Europe,  were  taken  by  men 
and  boys.  Even  now,  men  and  women  never  appear 
on  the  stage  together,  never,  never  do  the  sexes 


100  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

mingle  in  China,  and  the  women  who  act  take  the 
very  lowest  place  in  the  social  scale. 

One  cold  night  in  March  three  rickshaws  put 
us  down  at  an  open  doorway  in  the  Chinese  City 
outside  the  Tartar  wall.  The  Chinese  the  greatest 
connoisseurs  of  pictures  do  not  as  yet  think  much  of 
posters,  though  the  British  and  American  Tobacco 
Company  is  doing  its  best  to  educate  them  up  to 
that  level,  so  outside  this  theatre  the  door  was  not 
decorated  with  photographs  of  the  lovely  damsels  to 
be  seen  within,  clad  in  as  few  clothes  as  the  censor 
will  allow,  but  the  intellects  of  the  patrons  were 
appealed  to,  and  all  around  the  doors  were  bright 
red  sheets  of  paper,  on  which  the  delights  offered 
for  the  evening  were  inscribed  in  characters  of 
gold. 

We  went  along  a  narrow  passage  with  a  floor  of 
hard,  beaten  earth,  and  dirty  whitewashed  walls  on 
either  side,  along  such  a  passage  I  could  imagine 
went  those  who  first  listened  to  the  sayings  of 
Hamlet,  Prince  of  Denmark.  The  light  was  dim, 
the  thrifty  Chinaman  was  not  going  to  waste  the 
precious  and  expensive  light  of  compressed  gas 
where  it  was  not  really  needed,  and  from  behind  the 
wall  came  the  weird  strains  of  Chinese  music.  There 
appeared  to  be  only  one  door,  and  here  sat  a  fat  and 
smiling  Chinese,  who  explained  to  my  friends  that 
by  the  rules  of  the  theatre,  the  men  and  women 
were  divided,  and  that  I  must  go  to  the  women's 
gallery.  They  demurred.  It  would  be  very  dull 
for  me,  who  could  not  understand  a  word  of  the 
language,  to  sit  alone.  Could  no  exception  be  made 
in  my  favour?  The  doorkeeper  was  courteous  as 
only  a  Chinese  can  be,  and  said  that  for  his  part, 


A  TIME  OF  REJOICING  101 

he  had  no  objection  ;  but  the  custodian  of  the  theatre, 
put  there  by  the  Government  to  ensure  law  and 
order,  would  object. 

I  wanted  badly  to  stay  with  these  men  who  could 
explain  to  me  all  that  was  going  on,  so  we  sent  for 
the  custodian,  another  smiling  gentleman,  not  quite 
so  fat,  in  the  black  and  yellow  uniform  of  the  military 
police.  He  listened  to  all  we  had  to  say,  sym- 
pathised, but  declared  that  the  regulations  must  be 
carried  out.  My  friends  put  it  to  him  that  the 
regulations  were  archaic,  and  that  it  was  high  time 
they  were  altered.  He  smilingly  agreed.  They 
were  archaic,  very ;  but  then  you  see,  they  were  the 
regulations.  He  was  here  to  see  that  they  were 
carried  out,  and  he  suggested,  as  an  alternative,  that 
we  should  take  one  of  the  boxes  at  the  side.  The 
question  of  sitting  in  front  was  dismissed,  and  we 
gave  ourselves  to  the  consideration  of  a  box  for 
which  six  dollars,  that  is  twelve  shillings  English 
currency,  or  three  dollars  American,  were  demanded. 
We  demurred,  it  seems  you  always  question  prices  in 
China.  We  told  the  doorkeeper  that  the  price  was 
very  high,  and  that  as  we  were  sitting  where  we  did 
not  wish  to  sit,  he  ought  to  come  down.  He  did. 
Shades  of  Keith  and  Prowse !  Two  dollars ! 

We  went  up  some  steep  and  narrow  steps  of  the 
most  primitive  order,  were  admitted  to  a  large  hall 
lighted  by  compressed  gas — in  Cambulac!  here  in 
the  heart  of  an  ancient  civilisation — surrounded  by 
galleries  with  fronts  of  a  dainty  lattice-work  of 
polished  wood,  such  as  the  Chinese  employ  for 
windows,  and  we  took  our  places  in  a  box,  humbly 
furnished  with  bare  benches  and  a  wooden  table. 
Just  beneath  us  was  the  stage,  and  the  play  was  in 


102  A  WOMAN   IN  CHINA 

full  swing — actors,  property  men,  and  orchestra  all 
on  at  once.  It  was  large  and  square,  raised  a  little 
above  the  people  in  the  body  of  the  hall  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  little  low  screen  of  the  same  dainty 
lattice-work.  At  the  back  was  the  orchestra,  com- 
posed only  of  men  in  ordinary  coolie  dress — dark 
blue  cotton — with  long  queues.  There  were  casta- 
nets, and  a  drum,  cymbals,  native  fiddle,  and  various 
brazen  instruments  that  looked  like  brass  trays,  and 
they  all  played  untiringly,  with  an  energy  worthy  of 
a  better  cause,  and  with  the  apparent  intention — it 
couldn't  have  been  so  really — of  drowning  the  actors. 
Yet  taken  altogether  the  result  was  strangely  quaint 
and  Eastern. 

The  entertainment  consisted  of  a  number  of  little 
plays  lasting  from  half  an  hour  to  about  an  hour. 
There  were  never  more  than  half  a  dozen  people 
on  the  stage  at  once,  very  often  only  two  in  the  play 
altogether,  and  what  it  was  all  about  we  could  only 
guess  after  all,  for  even  my  friends,  who  could  speak 
ordinary  Chinese  fluently,  could  not  understand 
much  that  was  said.  Possibly  this  was  because 
every  actor,  instead  of  using  the  ordinary  conversa- 
tional tone,  adapted  as  we  adapt  it  to  the  stage, 
used  a  high,  piercing  falsetto  that  was  extremely  un- 
natural, and  reminded  me  of  nothing  on  this  earth 
that  I  know  of  except  perhaps  a  pig-killing.  Still 
even  I  gathered  something  of  the  story  of  the  play 
as  it  progressed,  for  the  gestures  of  these  women, 
unlike  their  voices,  were  extremely  dramatic,  and 
some  of  the  situations  were  not  to  be  mistaken. 
Scenery  was  as  it  was  in  Shakespeare's  day.  It  was 
understood.  But  for  all  the  bare  crudity,  the  dresses 
of  the  actors  which  belonged  to  a  previous  age, 


A  TIME  OF  REJOICING  103 

whether  they  were  supposed  to  represent  men  or 
women,  were  most  rich  and  beautiful.  The  general, 
with  his  hideously  painted  face  and  his  long  black 
beard  of  thread,  wore  a  golden  embroidered  robe 
that  must  have  been  worth  a  small  fortune ;  a  soldier, 
apparently  a  sort  of  Dugald  Dalgety,  who  pits  him- 
self against  a  scholar  clad  in  modest  dark  colours, 
appeared  in  a  blue  satin  of  the  most  delicate  shade, 
beautifully  embroidered  with  gorgeous  lotus  flowers 
and  palms ;  and  the  principal  ladies,  who  were  really 
rather  pretty  in  spite  of  their  highly  painted  faces 
and  weird  head-dresses,  wore  robes  of  delicate  love- 
liness that  one  of  my  companions,  whose  business  it 
was  to  know  about  such  matters,  told  me  must  have 
been,  like  the  general's,  of  great  value.  The  comic 
servant  or  country  man  wore  a  short  jumper  and  a 
piece  of  white  paper  and  powder  about  his  nose. 
It  certainly  did  make  him  look  funny.  The  dignified 
scholar  was  arrayed  all  in  black,  the  soldier  wore  the 
gayest  of  embroidered  silks  and  satins,  the  land- 
lady of  the  inn  or  boarding-house,  a  pleasant,  smiling 
woman  with  roses  in  her  hair  and  tiny  maimed  feet, 
had  a  pattern  of  black  lace-work  painted  on  her  fore- 
head, and  when  the  male  characters  had  to  be  very 
fierce  indeed,  they  wore  long  and  flowing  beards, 
beards  to  which  no  Chinaman,  I  fear  me,  can  ever 
hope  to  attain,  for  the  Chinaman  is  not  a  hairy  man. 
When  a  gallant  gentleman  with  tight  sleeves  which 
proclaimed  him  a  warrior,  and  a  long  beard  of  bright 
red  thread  which  made  him  a  very  fierce  warrior 
indeed,  snapped  his  fingers  and  lifted  up  his  legs, 
lifted  them  up  vehemently,  you  knew  that  he  was 
getting  over  a  wall  or  mounting  his  horse.  You 
could  take  your  choice.  A  mountain,  the  shady 


104  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

side  of  it,  was  represented  by  one  panel  of  a  screen 
which  leaned  drunkenly  against  a  very  ordinary 
chair,  giving  shelter  to  a  very  evil  spirit  with  a  dress 
that  represented  a  leopard,  and  a  face  of  the  grim- 
mest and  most  terrifying  of  those  animals. 

This  was  a  play  that  required  much  property  to 
be  displayed,  for  a  general  with  a  face  painted  all 
black  and  white  and  a  long  black  beard,  with  his 
army  of  five,  took  refuge  behind  a  stout  city  wall 
that  was  made  of  thin  blue  cotton  stuff  supported  on 
four  bamboo  poles,  and  this  convenient  wall  marched 
on  to  the  stage  in  the  hands  of  a  couple  of  stout 
coolies.  A  wicked  mountain  spirit  outside  the  walls 
did  terrible  things.  Ever  and  again  flashes  of  fire 
burst  out  after  his  speech,  and  I  presume  you  were 
not  supposed  to  see  the  coolie  who  manipulated  that 
fire,  though  he  stood  on  the  stage  as  large  as  any 
actors  in  the  piece. 

It  is  hard,  too,  talking  in  that  high  falsetto  against 
the  shrieking,  strident  notes  of  the  music,  so  naturally 
the  actors  constantly  required  a  little  liquid  refresh- 
ment, and  an  attendant  was  prompt  in  offering  tea 
in  tiny  round  basins;  and  nobody  saw  anything 
incongruous  in  his  standing  there  with  the  teapot 
handy,  and  in  slack  moments  taking  a  sip  him- 
self. 

The  fun  apparently  consisted  in  repartee,  and 
every  now  and  then,  the  audience,  who  were  silent 
and  engrossed,  instead  of  applauding  spontan- 
eously, ejaculated,  as  if  at  a  word  of  command, 
"  Hao !  "  which  means  "  Good !  " 

That  audience  was  the  best-behaved  and  most 
attentive  I  have  ever  seen.  It  consisted  mostly  of 
men,  as  far  as  I  could  seeL  of  the  middle  class. 


A  TIME  OF  REJOICING  105 

They  were  packed  close  together,  with  here  and 
there  a  little  table  or  bench  among  them ;  and  up 
and  down  went  vendors  of  apples,  oranges,  pieces 
of  sugar-cane,  cakes  and  sweetmeats. 

There  were  also  people  who  supplied  hot,  damp 
towels.  A  man  stood  here  and  there  in  the  audience, 
and  from  the  outer  edge  of  the  theatre,  came  hurtling 
to  him,  over  the  heads  of  the  people,  a  bundle  of  these 
towels.  For  a  cent  or  so  apiece  he  distributed  them, 
the  members  of  the  audience  taking  a  refreshing 
wipe  of  face  and  head  and  hands  and  handing  the 
towels  back.  When  the  purveyor  of  the  towels  had 
used  up  all  his  stock,  and  got  them  all  back  again, 
he  tied  them  up  into  a  neat  bundle,  and  threw  them 
back  the  way  they  had  come,  receiving  a  fresh  stock 
in  return.  Never  did  a  bundle  of  towels  fail  in 
reaching  its  appointed  place,  and  scores  of  cents 
must  the  providers  have  pocketed.  For  the  delight 
of  ventilation  is  not  appreciated  in  China,  and  to  say 
that  theatre  was  stuffy  is  a  mild  way  of  putting  it. 
The  warm  wet  towel  must  have  given  a  sort  of 
refreshment.  They  offered  us  some  up  in  the  digni- 
fied seclusion  of  our  box,  but  we  felt  we  could  sustain 
life  without  washing  our  faces  with  doubtful  towels 
during  the  progress  of  the  entertainment.  Tea  was 
brought,  too,  excellent  Chinese  tea,  and  I  drank  it 
with  pleasure.  I  drink  Chinese  tea  without  either 
milk  or  sugar  as  a  matter  of  course  now;  but  that 
night  at  the  Chinese  theatre  I  was  only  trying  it  and 
wondering  could  I  drink  it  at  all. 

Opposite  us  was  the  women's  gallery,  full  of 
Chinese  and  Manchu  ladies,  with  high  head- 
dresses and  highly  painted  faces.  The  Chinese 
ladies  often  paint  their  faces,  but  their  attempts  at 


106  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

decoration  pale  before  that  of  the  Manchus,  who  put 
on  the  colour  with  such  right  goodwill  that  every 
woman  when  she  is  dressed  in  her  smartest,  looks 
remarkably  like  a  sign-board.  The  wonder  is  that 
anyone  could  possibly  be  found  who  could  admire 
the  unnatural  effect.  Someone,  I  suppose,  there  is, 
or  it  would  not  be  done,  but  no  men  went  near  the 
women's  gallery  that  evening.  It  would  have  been 
the  grossest  breach  of  decorum  for  a  man  to  do  any 
such  thing,  and  the  painted  ladies  drank  their  tea 
by  themselves. 

Somewhere  about  midnight,  earlier  than  usual, 
consequent,  I  imagine,  upon  the  disturbed  state  of 
the  country,  the  entertainment  ended  with  a  perfect 
crash  of  music,  and  the  most  orderly  audience  in 
the  world  went  out  into  the  streets  of  the  Chinese 
City,  into  the  clear  night.  Only  in  very  recent 
years,  they  tell  me,  have  the  streets  of  Peking  been 
lighted.  Formerly  the  people  went  to  bed  at  dusk, 
but  they  seem  to  have  taken  very  kindly  to  the 
change,  for  the  streets  were  thronged.  There  were 
people  on  foot,  people  in  rickshaws,  people  in  the 
springless  Peking  carts,  and  important  personages 
with  outriders  and  footmen  in  the  glass  broughams 
beloved  by  the  Chinese ;  and  there  were  the  military 
police  everywhere,  now  at  night  with  rifles  across 
their  shoulders.  Here,  disciplining  this  most 
orderly  crowd,  they  struck  me  as  being  strangely 
incongruous.  I  wondered  at  those  police  then,  and 
I  wonder  still.  What  are  they  for?  Whatever  the 
reason,  there  they  were  at  every  few  yards.  Never 
have  I  had  such  a  strange  home-coming  from  a 
theatre.  Down  on  us  forty  feet  high  frowned  the 
walls  built  in  past  ages,  we  crossed  the  Beggars' 


A  TIME  OF  REJOICING  107 

Bridge  of  glorious  marble,  we  went  under  the  mighty 
archway  of  the  Chien  Men,  and  we  entered  the 
Legation  Quarter  guarded  like  a  fortress,  and  I 
went  to  bed  meditating  on  the  difference  between  a 
Chinese  play  and  a  modern  musical  comedy.  They 
have,  I  fancy,  one  thing  in  common.  They  are 
interesting  enough  to  see  for  the  first  time,  but  a  little 
of  them  goes  a  long  way. 

I  went  to  bed  under  a  clear  and  cloudless  sky, 
and  the  next  morning,  to  my  astonishment,  it  was 
raining.  I  have,  of  course,  seen  rain  many,  many 
times,  and  many,  many  times  have  I  seen  heavier 
rain  than  fell  all  this  April  day  in  Peking,  but  never 
before,  not  even  in  my  own  country  where  ram  is  the 
great  desideratum,  have  I  seen  rain  better  worth 
recording. 

It  was  indeed  this  April  day  rain  at  last! 

"  To  everything  there  is  a  season,"  says  the 
preacher,  and  the  spring  is  the  time  for  a  little  rain 
in  Northern  China.  In  England  people  suppose  it 
rains  three  hundred  and  sixty  days  out  of  the  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five,  except  in  Leap  Year  when 
we  manage  to  get  in  another  rainy  day,  but  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  believe  the  average  is  about  one 
hundred  and  fifty  wet  days  in  the  year,  with  a  certain 
number  more  in  which  clouds  in  the  sky  blot  out 
the  sunshine.  In  the  north  of  China,  on  the  other 
hand,  there  had  been,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  no 
cloud  in  the  sky  since  the  summer  rains  of  1912,  till 
this  rain  in  April  which  I  looked  out  upon.  Is  not 
rain  like  that  worth  recording?  Still  more  do  I  feel 
it  is  worth  recording  when  I  think  of  what  that  day's 
rain,  that  seemed  so  little  to  me,  meant  to  millions 
of  people.  All  through  the  bitter  cold  winter  the 


108  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

country  lay  in  the  grip  of  the  frost,  but  the  sun 
reigned  in  a  heaven  of  peerless  blue,  and  the  light 
was  brilliant  with  a  brilliancy  that  makes  the  sun- 
shine of  a  June  day  in  England  a  poor,  pale  thing. 
The  people  counted  for  their  crops  on  the  rain  that 
would  come  in  due  season,  the  rain  in  the  spring. 
March  came  with  the  thaw,  and  the  winds  from  the 
north  lifted  the  loose  soil  into  the  air  in  clouds 
of  dust.  But  March  passed  alternating  brilliant 
sunshine  and  clouds  of  dust,  and  there  was  never  a 
cloud  in  the  sky,  never  a  drop  of  moisture  for  the 
gasping  earth.  April  came — would  it  go  on  like 
this  till  June?  Rain  that  comes  in  due  season  is 
necessary  to  the  crops  that  are  the  wealth,  nay  the 
very  life  of  Northern  China. 

From  the  beams  of  the  peasant's  cottage  hang  the 
cobs  of  corn,  each  one  counted ;  in  jars  or  boxes  is 
his  little  store  of  grain,  millet — just  bird-seed  in 
point  of  fact — he  has  a  few  dried  persimmons  per- 
haps and — nothing  else.  Twice  a  day  the  house- 
wife measures  out  the  grain  for  the  meal — she  knows, 
the  tiniest  child  in  the  household  knows  exactly  how 
long  it  will  last  with  full  measure,  how  it  may  be 
spun  out  over  a  few  more  dreary,  hunger-aching 
days,  how  then,  if  the  rain  has  not  come,  if  the 
crops  have  failed,  famine  will  stalk  in  the  land, 
famine,  cruel,  pitiless,  and  from  his  grip  there  is  no 
escaping. 

Think  of  it,  as  I  did  that  April  day  in  Peking, 
when  I  watched  the  rain  pelting  down.  Think  of 
the  dumb,  helpless  peasant  watching  the  cloudless 
blue  sky  and  the  steadily  diminishing  store  of  grain, 
watching,  hoping,  for  the  faintest  wisp  of  white 
cloud  that  shall  give  promise  of  a  little  moisture. 


GATHERING  IN  KAOLIANG  FOR  THRESHING. 


A  THRESHING   FLOOR. 


A  TIME  OF  REJOICING  109 

They  tell  me,  those  who  know,  that  the  Chinaman 
is  a  fatalist,  that  he  never  looks  so  far  ahead,  but  do 
they  not  judge  him  with  Western  eyes?  True  he 
seldom  complains,  but  he  tills  his  fields  so  carefully 
that  he  must  see  in  imagination  the  crops  they  are 
to  produce,  he  must  know,  how  can  he  help  knowing, 
that  if  there  be  no  harvest,  there  is  an  end  to  his 
home,  his  family,  his  children ;  that  if  perchance  his 
life  be  spared,  it  will  be  grey  and  empty,  broken, 
desolate,  scarce  worth  living.  Every  scanty  posses- 
sion will  have  to  be  sold  to  buy  food  in  a  ruinously 
high  market,  even  the  loved  children,  and  no  one 
who  has  seen  them  together  can  doubt  that  the 
Chinese  deeply  love  their  children,  must  go,  though 
for  the  little  daughter  whose  destination  will  be  a 
brothel  of  one  of  the  great  cities,  but  two  dollars, 
four  pitiful  shillings,  may  be  hoped  for,  and  when 
that  is  eaten  up,  the  son  sold  into  slavery  will  bring 
very  little  more.  To  sell  their  children  sounds 
terrible,  but  what  can  they  do?  Some  must  be 
sacrificed  that  the  others  may  have  a  chance  of  life, 
and  even  if  they  are  not  sacrificed,  their  fate  is  to 
die  slowly  under  the  bright  sky,  in  the  relentless 
sunshine.  This  is  the  spectre  that  haunts  the 
peasant.  This  is  the  thing  that  has  befallen  his 
fathers,  that  has  befallen  him,  that  may  befall 
him  again  any  year,  that  no  care  on  his  part 
can  guard  him  from,  that  the  clear  sky  for  ever 
threatens. 

"  From  plague,  pestilence  and  famine,  Good  Lord 
deliver  us." 

Does  ever  that  Litany  to  the  Most  High  go  up 
in  English  cathedral  with  such  prayerful  fervour, 
such  thorough  realisation  of  what  is  meant  by  the 


110  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

supplication,  as  is  in  the  heart  of  the  peasant  mother 
in  China,  carefully  measuring  out  the  grain  for  the 
meal.  Only  she  would  put  it  the  other  way.  "  From 
famine,  and  the  plague  and  pestilence  that  stalk  in 
the  wake  of  the  famine,  oh  pitiful,  merciful  God 
deliver  us ! " 

And  when  I  took  all  this  in,  when  I  heard  men 
who  had  seen  the  suffering  describe  it,  was  it  any 
wonder  that  I  rejoiced  at  the  dull  grey  sky,  at  the 
sound  of  the  rain  on  the  roof,  at  the  water  rushing 
down  the  gutters. 

On  the  gently  sloping  hill-sides  of  Manchuria, 
where  they  grow  the  famous  bean,  the  hill-sides  that 
I  had  seen  in  their  winter  array,  on  the  wide  plains 
of  Mongolia,  where  only  the  far  horizon  bounds  the 
view,  and  you  march  on  to  a  yet  farther  horizon 
where  the  Mongol  tends  his  flocks  and  herds,  and  the 
industrious  Chinaman,  pushing  out  beyond  the  pro- 
tecting wall,  has  planted  beans  and  sown  oats,  in 
Honan,  where  the  cotton  and  the  maize  and  the  kao- 
liang grow,  all  along  the  gardens  and  grain-fields  of 
Northern  China,  had  come  the  revivifying  rain. 
The  day  before,  under  the  blue  sky,  lay  the  bare 
brown  earth,  acres  and  acres,  miles  and  miles  of  it, 
carefully  tilled,  nowhere  in  the  world  have  I  seen 
such  carefully  tilled  land,  full  of  promise,  but  of 
promise  only,  of  a  rich  harvest.  Then,  not  hoped 
for  so  late,  a  boon  hardly  to  be  prayed  for,  welcome 
as  sunshine  never  was  welcomez  came  the  rain,  six 
hours  steady  rain,  and  the  spectre  of  famine,  ever 
so  close  to  the  Chinese  peasant,  for  a  time  drifted 
into  the  background  with  old,  unhappy,  long- 
forgotten  things.  Next  morning  on  all  the  khaki- 
coloured  country  outside  Peking  was  a  tinge  of 


A  TIME  OF  REJOICING  111 

green,  and  we  knew  that  a  bountiful  harvest  was 
ensured,  knew  that  soon  the  country  would  be  a 
beautiful  emerald.  The  house-mother,  the  patient, 
uncomplaining,  ignorant,  Chinese  house-mother, 
might  fill  her  pot  joyfully,  the  house-father  might 
look  at  his  little  daughter,  with  the  red  thread  twisted 
in  her  hair,  and  know,  that  for  a  year  at  least,  she 
was  safe  in  his  sheltering  arms,  for  the  blessed  rain 
had  come,  God  given. 

Peking  in  the  rain  is  an  uncomfortable  place.  It 
is  built  for  the  sunshine.  The  streets  of  the  city 
were  knee-deep  in  mud,  the  hu  t'ungs  were  impas- 
sable for  a  man  on  foot  unless  he  would  be  mud  up 
to  the  knees,  for  there  had  been  six  hours  solid  down- 
pour, and  every  moment  it  continued  was  worth 
pounds  to  the  country.  What  was  a  twenty-five 
million  loan  with  its  heavy  interest,  against  such  a 
rain  as  this?  More  than  one  hundred  thousand 
people  were  affected  by  the  downpour,  were  glad 
and  rejoicing  that  day  at  the  good-fortune  that  had 
befallen  them.  This  mass  of  human  beings,  at  the 
very  lowest  computation  had  considerably  more  than 
twenty-five  million  pounds  rained  down  upon  it  in 
the  course  of  six  hours.  There  came  with  that  rain, 
that  blurred  the  windows  of  my  room,  prosperity  for 
the  land,  and,  for  a  time  at  least,  peace,  for  peace 
and  good  harvests  in  China  are  sometimes  inter- 
changeable terms.  What  did  it  matter  to  Northern 
China  at  that  moment  that  the  nations  were  bicker- 
ing over  the  loan,  that  America  was  promising, 
Britain  hesitating,  Russia  threatening  ?  What  did  it 
matter  whether  Emperor,  President,  or  Dictator,  was 
in  power?  What  did  it  matter  that  the  national 
representatives  hesitated  to  come  to  the  capital? 


112  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

What  did  it  matter  what  mistakes  they  made  ?  What 
does  the  peasant  tilling  his  field,  the  woman  filling 
her  cooking-pot  know  about  these  things?  What 
do  they  care  ?  A  mightier  factor  than  these,  a  greater 
power  than  man's  had  stepped  in.  God  be  thanked, 
in  China  that  day  it  rained. 


CHAPTER  VII 

ONE  OF  THE  WONDERS  OF  THE  WORLD 

Courteous  Americans— Nankou  Pass— Beacon  towers— Inaccessible 
hills — "  Balbus  has  built  a  wall  " — Tiny  towns — "  Watch- 
man, what  of  the  night?  " — Deserted  watch-towers — - 
Thoughtful  Chinese  waiter— Ming  Tombs— Chinese  carrying 
Chair — Stony  way — Greatest  p'ia  lou  in  China — Amphitheatre 
among  the  barren  hills — Tomb  of  Yung  Lo — Trunks  of 
sandal-wood  trees — Enterprising  Chinese  guard. 

WHEREVER  I  might  wander  in  China,  and  with  the 
rumours  of  war  that  were  in  the  air,  it  looked  as 
if  my  wanderings  were  going  to  be  somewhat 
restricted,  to  one  place  I  was  bound  to  wander, 
and  that  was  the  Great  Wall  of  China.  Even  in  the 
days  of  my  grandmother's  curios,  I  had  heard  about 
that,  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  world,  and  I  could 
never  have  left  China  without  seeing  it. 

"  You  can  do  it  in  a  couple  of  days,"  said  the  young 
man,  who  had  chastened  me  gently  when  first  I 
entered  Peking.  "  I'm  going  up  on  Tuesday. 
You'd  better  come  along.  The  poet's  coming  too," 
he  added. 

The  poet,  a  real  live  poet,  who  thought  a  deal 
more  about  his  binding  than  his  public,  was  like  me 
I  think,  he  did  not  like  seeing  places  in  crowds,  and 
at  first  he  did  not  give  us  much  of  his  society. 
There  was  also  a  millionaire,  an  American  million- 
aire, his  little  wife,  his  big  daughter,  and  his  angular 

113  H 


114  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

maiden  sister.  They  had  an  observation-car  fixed 
on  to  the  train,  and  the  guard  came  along  and  said 
that  if  we  ordinary  travellers,  who  were  not  million- 
aires, cared  to  come  in  the  car,  the  millionaire  would 
be  very  pleased. 

I  have  travelled  so  much  by  myself  that  the 
chance  of  congenial  company  once  in  a  way  was 
delightful,  but  I  did  feel  we  ought  not  to  have  taken 
the  train  to  the  Nankou  Pass.  A  mule  litter,  or  a 
Peking  cart  would  have  been  so  much  more  suitable. 
However,  it  is  as  well  to  be  as  comfortable  as 
possible. 

From  the  north  came  China's  foes,  the  sturdy 
horsemen  from  Mongolia,  the  mountain  men  from 
the  Manchurian  Hills,  and  because  the  peaceful, 
industrious  inhabitants  of  the  rich,  alluvial  plains 
feared  greatly  the  raiders,  they,  just  at  the  Nankou 
Pass,  where  these  inaccessible  hills  might  be  passed, 
built  watch-towers  and  kept  ward.  There  they 
stand,  even  to  this  day,  upon  jutting  peaks  where 
the  pass  opens  into  the  plain,  grey  stone  watch- 
towers  with  look-outs  and  slits  for  the  archers,  and 
beacon-towers  which  could  flash  the  fiery  warning 
that  should  rouse  the  country  to  the  south.  For 
thirteen  miles  we  went  up  the  pass,  the  cleft  that  the 
stream,  babbling  cheerfully  now  in  April  over  its 
water- worn  rocks,  has  carved  for  itself  through  the 
stony  hills,  and  its  weird  beauty  never  palls. 

Always  there  were  the  hills,  broken  to  pieces, 
tossed  together  by  the  hand  of  a  giant,  there  were 
great  clefts  in  them,  vistas  looking  up  stony  and 
inaccessible  valleys,  gullies  that  are  black  as  if  a 
burning  fiery  furnace  had  been  set  in  their  midst, 
little  pockets  where  the  stream  widened  and  there 


THE  GREAT  WALL  OF  CHINA. 

(See  Page  1 16) 


TEMPLE  IN  TOMB  OF  YUNG  LO. 

(Seepage  124) 


ONE  OF  THE  WORLD'S  WONDERS   115 

was  a  patch  of  green  pasture,  some  goats  grazing,  a 
small,  neat  farm-house  and  fruit-trees,  pink  and 
white,  almond,  peach,  or  pear,  a  wealth  of  blossom. 
On  every  patch  of  those  barren  hill-sides  where  a 
tree  might  grow,  a  tree — a  fruit-tree — because  the 
Chinaman  is  strictly  utilitarian,  had  been  planted; 
only  here  and  there,  over  the  sacred  graves  of  China, 
there  was  a  patch  of  willow,  tender  with  the  delicate 
dainty  green  of  early  spring. 

Always  in  China  there  are  people ;  and  here  there 
were  tiny  towns  packed  together  on  ledges  of  the 
eternal  hills,  with  the  fruit-trees  and  the  willows 
that  shade  the  graves,  and  there  were  walls — walls 
that  stretch  up  to  the  inaccessible  portion  of  the 
hills,  where  only  a  goat  might  climb,  and  no  invad- 
ing army  could  possibly  pass.  So  numerous  were 
these  walls  that  my  cheery  young  friend  suggested 
that  if  ever  a  village  head-man  had  a  little  spare 
time  on  his  hands  he  remarked:  "Oh,  I  say,  here's 
a  fine  day  and  plenty  of  stones,  let's  go  out  and  build 
a  wall."  And  then  next  day  the  villagers  in  the 
next  hamlet  looking  out  said,  "  By  Jove,  Balbus,  no 
Wong,  has  built  a  wall.  We  can't  be  beat."  But  I 
don't  think  in  the  old  days  the  villagers  on  those 
hills  ever  took  life  quite  as  lightly  as  that. 

Over  and  over  again  it  is  repeated,  the  watch- 
towers  on  the  hills  and  the  strips  of  wall  running 
down  into  the  valley,  walls  with  wide  tops  on  which 
companies  of  archers  might  stand,  protected  by  a 
breast-work  slit  for  arrows,  with  a  wall  behind  again 
to  which  they  might  retire  if  they  were  beaten, 
making  the  space  between  hard  to  hold,  even  for  a 
victorious  enemy.  Always  there  were  the  walls  and 
watch-towers  as  we  went  on  up  the  valley,  telling 


116  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

in  their  own  way,  the  story  of  the  strenuous  lives  of 
the  men  who  lived  here  in  the  old  days. 

Down  the  mule  track  these  walls  command  came 
an  endless  company  of  people,  wandering  along, 
slowly,  persistently,  as  they  have  wandered  since 
the  dawn  of  history.  They  had  mules,  and  donkeys, 
and  horses — muzzled  so  that  they  cannot  eat  the 
tufts  of  herbage  by  the  roadside — laden  with  grain, 
and  hides,  and  all  manner  of  merchandise.  There 
were  blue-coated  coolies  trudging  along  with 
bamboos  across  their  shoulders,  their  heavy  loads 
dangling  from  either  end ;  and  there  were  laden 
camels,  the  ragged  dromedaries  from  Mongolia,  long 
lines  of  them,  picking  their  way  among  the  stones 
along  the  road  by  the  side  of  the  stream.  The 
camels,  and  the  walls,  and  the  watch-towers  go 
together,  they  enhance  the  wonder  and  the  charm  of 
this  road  to  the  Great  Wall. 

Up  and  up  we  went,  up  the  valley,  past  the  great 
archway  where  is  the  Customs  barrier  even  to-day, 
and  on,  higher  and  higher,  deeper  into  the  hills, 
till  ahead,  crowning  them,  climbing  their  steepest 
points,  bridging  their  most  inaccessible  declivities, 
clear-cut  against  the  blue  sky,  I  saw  what  I  had  come 
out  to  see,  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  world,  the  Great 
Wall  of  China!  Here  among  the  stony,  arid  hills, 
that  anywhere  else  in  the  world  would  be  left  to  the 
rock-doves  and  the  rabbits,  we  came  upon  a  piece 
of  man's  handiwork  that  for  ages  has  cried  aloud  to 
those  who  have  eyes  to  see,  or  ears  to  hear,  of  the 
colossal  industry  of  China,  nay  of  more  than  that, 
of  the  sacrifice  of  the  individual  for  the  good  of  the 
community.  On  and  on  went  the  Wall,  up  and  up 
and  up,  cliinbing  steadily,  falling,  climbing  again, 


ONE  OF  THE  WORLD'S  WONDERS   117 

and  again  dropping  into  the  valleys.  There  were 
watch-towers  and  a  broad  highway  along  its  top; 
here  stood  the  sentries,  who  kept  ceaseless  watch 
and  ward  looking  ever  for  the  invader,  whether  he 
came  in  countless  array,  a  conquering  army,  or  in 
small  raiding  bands  that  might  take  toll  of  the  rich 
crops  to  the  south,  steal  a  few  women,  or  hold  a 
wealthy  squire  up  to  ransom. 

"Watchman,  what  of  the  night?  What  of  the 
night?  Is  the  road  clear  to  the  north?  Hist! 
Hist!  What  is  that  beneath  the  loom  of  the  hills? 
What  is  the  sound  that  comes  up  on  the  wind  ?  " 

"  There  are  always  dark  shadows  in  the  loom  of 
the  hills,  and  it  is  only  a  stone  falling  down  the 

gully." 

"Ah,  but  the  dark  shadows  have  hidden  a  band 
of  Manchurian  archers,  and  the  stone  might  be 
loosened  by  the  hoof  of  a  Mongol  pony.  Watch- 
man! Watchman,  what  of  the  night?  What  of  the 
night?" 

That  was  the  way  I  felt  about  it  as,  having  got 
out  of  the  train,  and  taken  a  chair,  we  made  our  way 
through  the  desolate  country  to  the  Nankou  Pass, 
and  I,  forgetting  all  else,  stood  gazing  my  fill  at  the 
Wall  I  had  heard  about  ever  since  I  was  a  little  child. 
Dreaming  of  what  it  must  have  been  in  the  past,  I 
forgot,  for  the  moment,  the  present,  and  the  passing 
of  time.  I  was  alone,  as  the  poet  wished  to  be, 
and  then  a  high-pitched  voice  brought  me  to  this 
present  day  again. 

"  Say  Momma,"  said  the  millionaire — we  thought 
he  was  a  millionaire  because  of  the  observation-car, 
but  he  may  have  been  just  more  ordinarily  well- 
to-do  than  a  writer  of  books — "where's  Cora?" 


118  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

"  Search  me,"  said  Momma  placidly. 

He  didn't  search  her,  perhaps  because,  seeing 
she  was  but  five  feet  and  small  and  thin  at  that,  he 
did  not  think  it  likely  that  Cora,  who  was  a  buxom 
young  person  close  on  six  feet,  could  possibly  be 
concealed  anywhere  about  her  person. 

The  maiden  aunt  pointed  an  accusing  finger  up 
the  rough,  grass-grown  stones  that  make  the  top  of 
the  Wall. 

"  Skipping  like  a  young  ram,"  she  snorted,  and 
then  all  three  raised  their  voices,  and  those  old- 
world  rocks  rang  with  shouts  of  "Cora!  Cora!  ! 
Cora!  !  !" 

I  trembled  for  the  poet's  feelings,  if  he  were 
anywhere  within  range,  but  after  all,  in  their  own 
way  and  time,  I  dare  say  the  keepers  of  the  Wall 
were  just  as  commonplace.  My  companion,  who 
was  steadily  making  his  way  up  the  Wall  beside 
Cora,  turned  at  the  ear-piercing  yells,  looked  at 
his  watch,  spoke  to  the  girl,  and  came  slowly  back 
while  she  quickened  her  pace  for  a  moment,  as  if 
determined  to  get  over  the  other  side  of  the  hill, 
whatever  happened. 

"  The  young  gentleman  has  the  most  sense," 
opined  Momma. 

"  She'll  come  now  he's  turned,"  said  the  maiden 
aunt  acidly,  and  even  though  she  did  come,  down 
across  the  rough  stones,  by  the  ruined  watch-towers, 
I  felt  the  insinuation  was  unjust. 

Those  watch-towers  are  empty  now,  deserted  and 
desolate.  No  thoughtful  captain,  weighed  down 
with  responsibility,  looks  through  their  arched 
windows,  no  javelin  men  stand  on  the  stone  steps, 
no  sentry  tramps  along  peering  out  to  the  north. 


THE   NANKOU  PASS. 


GATEWAY   IN  THE   WALL,  NANKOU  PASS. 


ONE  OF  THE  WORLD'S  WONDERS   119 

The  Wall  is  tumbling  into  disrepair,  the  grass  and 
weeds  grow  up  between  the  stones,  and  the  wonder 
of  the  world  is  a  mighty  ruin,  stately  even  in  its 
decay,  for  never  again  beneath  the  sun  will  such 
another  wall  be  built.  Look  at  it  climbing  up  those 
hills,  cutting  the  blue  sky,  bridging  the  gullies,  and 
think  of  the  tears,  and  sweat,  and  blood,  that  went 
to  the  building  of  it !  That  foundations  may  be  well 
and  truly  laid,  so  says  tradition,  they  must  be  laid  on 
a  living  human  being.  It  is  one  way  of  saying  that 
on  sacrifice  our  lives  are  based,  that  for  every  good 
thing  in  life  something  of  value  must  be  given ;  so 
to  the  building  of  the  Wall,  that  was  to  hold  China 
safe,  went  hundreds  and  thousands  of  lives,  and  its 
upkeep  and  its  watching  cost  more  than  we  can  well 
imagine. 

We  went  back  to  the  Ching  Er  Hotel  at  Nankou, 
the  little  hotel  close  to  the  railway  and  plunged  once 
more  into  modern  life  for,  unpretentious  and  kept 
by  Chinese  as  it  is,  it  still  represented  the  present 
day.  It  is  just  one  big  room,  divided  into  a  hall 
and  many  little  rooms  by  so  many  sheets  of  paper, 
so  that  the  man  in  the  room  in  front  may  whisper 
and  nothing  be  lost  upon  the  man  in  the  room  at 
the  back,  six  rooms  away,  while  to  have  a  bath  is 
a  matter  of  public  interest,  for  the  smallest  splash 
can  be  heard  from  one  end  of  the  building  to  the 
other. 

Nevertheless,  I  shall  always  have  friendly  feelings 
towards  that  little  hotel,  where  they  lodged  me  so 
hardly,  and  fed  me  so  well. 

They  considered  one  in  every  way,  too.  The 
poet  had  evidently  not  been  troubled  by  the  family 
affection  of  the  millionaires,  he  walked  back  from  the 


120  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

Wall,  and  was  so  full  of  enthusiasm  he  forgave  my 
presence,  came  to  me  as  I  sat  at  dinner  and, 
covered  with  the  dust  of  the  way  as  he  was,  stood, 
and  just  as  I  should  expect  of  a  poet,  waxed  eloquent 
on  the  glories  he  had  seen.  The  Chinese  waiter, 
with  shaven  head  and  long  blue  smock,  let  him  go 
on  for  a  few  minutes,  then  he  took  him  gently  and 
respectfully  by  the  sleeve. 

"  Vash,"  he  said  solemnly,  without  the  ghost  of  a 
smile  on  his  face ;  "  vash,"  and  the  poet  came  to 
earth  with  a  laugh.  We  both  laughed. 

"  Well,  yes,"  he  said  looking  at  his  dust-begrimed 
person.  "  I  suppose  I  had  better  wash.  Ill  be 
back  in  a  moment.  May  I  sit  at  your  table  ? " 

And  next  day  I  went  to  see  the  Ming  Tombs. 

St  Paul's  and  Westminster  are  set  in  the  heart  of 
a  mighty  city,  ever  by  the  peaceful  dead  sounds  the 
clamour  of  the  living,  yet  the  living  forget,  in  spite 
of  the  daily  reminder  they  forget.  In  China,  where 
graves  dot  every  field,  and  are  part  and  parcel  of 
the  lives  of  the  people,  they  bury  the  honoured  dead 
far  apart  from  the  rush  and  roar  of  everyday  life, 
and  they  never  forget.  The  Nankou  Pass  is  two 
hours  from  Peking,  and  the  tombs  of  the  Ming 
Emperors  are  nine  miles  from  the  Nankou  Pass, 
set  in  the  very  heart  of  the  hills.  The  entrance  to 
the  pass  is  barren  and  lonely  enough,  but  the  extra 
nine  miles  is  like  journeying  into  the  wilderness 
where  the  scapegoat,  burdened  with  the  sins  of  the 
community,  was  driven  by  the  Israelites.  It  is  a 
long,  long  nine  miles  over  a  stony  mule  track  where 
only  a  donkey,  a  pony,  or  a  chair  can  go,  and  yet 
here  centuries  ago,  when  it  was  ten  times  farther 
away,  China  buried  her  dead,  the  men  who  sat  on 


ONE  OF  THE  WORLD'S  WONDERS   121 

the  Dragon  Throne,  and  bridged  for  the  nation  the 
gap  that  lies  between  mortal  men  and  high  Heaven. 
It  is  lonely  now  when  the  roadway  of  the  West 
brings  Nankou  close  to  the  capital,  it  must  have 
been  unspeakably  lonely  in  the  days  before  the 
opening  of  the  railway.  A  chair  seemed  to  me  the 
only  way  to  get  there,  a  chair  borne  by  four  blue- 
clad  coolies  with  queues  wrapped  round  their  shaven 
heads,  and  while  my  companion  rode  a  pony,  in  a 
chair  I  swung  over  the  stony  narrow  track  away 
towards  the  hills.  The  hills  were  rugged  and 
barren,  the  same  hills  that  the  Wall  crossed;  on 
their  stony  sides  no  green  thing  could  ever  grow, 
and  they  were  brown,  and  pink,  and  grey,  and  when 
a  white  cloud  gathered  here  and  there  in  the  far- 
away blue  sky,  the  shadows  lay  across  them  in  great 
purple  patches.  And  the  road  was  stony,  barely 
to  be  seen,  impossible  for  wheeled  traffic,  even  the 
primitive  wheeled  traffic  of  Northern  China.  I 
doubt  even  if  a  wheelbarrow  could  have  gone  along 
it.  I  doubted  often  whether  the  heaps  of  stones  on 
the  slope  could  possibly  be  a  road,  but  the  coolies 
seemed  to  know,  and  went  steadily  on,  changing  the 
pole  from  one  shoulder  to  the  other  so  often  that  it 
gave  me  a  feeling  of  brutality  that  I  should  use 
such  a  means  of  locomotion.  The  only  person  who 
was  comfortable  was  I. 

My  companion  rode  beside  me  sometimes.  He 
felt  himself  responsible  for  my  well-being,  and  it 
was  good  to  be  looked  after. 

"Are  you  all  right?" 

All  right!  If  the  country  round  was  desolate, 
the  sunshine  was  glorious,  the  air,  the  clear,  dry  air 
of  Northern  China  was  as  invigorating  as  cham- 


122  A  WOMAN   IN  CHINA 

pagne,  and  I  knew  that  I  could  go  on  for  ever  and 
feel  myself  much  blessed.  The  Ming  Tombs  were 
but  an  excuse ;  it  was  well  and  more  than  well  to  be 
here  in  the  open  spaces  of  the  earth,  to  draw  deep 
breaths,  to  feel  that  neither  past  nor  future  mattered ; 
here  beneath  the  open  sky  in  the  golden  sunshine 
swinging  along,  somewhere,  anywhere,  I  had  all  I 
could  ask  of  life. 

And  always  it  was  a  stony  way.  Sometimes  the 
coolies  climbed  up  a  bank  of  loose  stones  that 
slipped  and  rolled  away  as  they  passed,  sure-footed 
as  goats,  sometimes  the  stones  were  piled  on  either 
side  and  a  sort  of  track  meandered  in  between, 
sometimes  they  were  scattered  all  over  the  plain  in 
such  masses  that  even  the  industrious  Chinese 
seemed  to  have  given  up  the  task  of  clearing  them 
away  as  hopeless,  and  had  simply  tilled  the  land  in 
between.  For  this  was  no  uninhabited  desert,  deso- 
late as  it  seemed.  Always  we  came  across  little 
stone-built  hamlets,  there  were  men  and  women 
working  in  the  fields,  and  rosy-cheeked  children 
stood  by  the  wayside  and  waved  their  little  hands 
to  the  passing  stranger.  There  would  be  the  sound 
of  bells,  and  a  string  of  mules  or  donkeys  came 
picking  tjieir  way  as  soberly  as  the  coolies  them- 
selves, and  left  much  to  themselves  by  their  ragged 
drivers.  They  looked  of  the  poorest,  these  people, 
men  and  women  clad  much  alike  in  dirty  blue  that, 
torn  here  and  there,  let  out  the  cotton-wool  which 
padded  it  for  winter  warmth. 

Probably  they  knew  nothing,  nothing  of  the  world 
beyond  their  little  dusty,  stony  hamlets,  they  prayed 
perhaps  for  the  rain  that  should  moisten  their  dusty, 
stony  fields,  and  give  them  the  mess  of  meal,  the 


P  IA   LOU  AT  ENTRANCE  TO   HOLY   WAY. 


HOLY  WAY — MING  TOMBS. 


ONE  OF  THE  WORLD'S  WONDERS   123 

handful  of  persimmons  that  is  all  they  ask  of  Fate,  and 
they  watched  the  few  strangers  who  came  to  visit  the 
tombs,  and  perhaps  never  even  wondered  what  the 
outside  world  might  be  like,  if  it  gave  to  those  who 
lived  there  anything  more  than  fell  to  the  lot  of  the 
humble  dwellers  on  the  road  to  the  Ming  Tombs. 

And  at  last  in  the  pleasant  noontide  we  came  to 
the  p'ia  lou  at  the  entrance,  the  greatest  p'ia  lou  in 
China,  that  land  of  p'ia  lous,  and  standing  there  I 
realised,  not  only  the  beauty  of  the  archway,  but  the 
wonder  of  the  place  the  Mings  had  chosen  to  be 
theirs  for  all  time.  It  is  a  great  amphitheatre  among 
these  barren  hills.  St  Paul's  or  Westminster  could 
not  hold  these  tombs,  for  Hyde  Park  might  be  put 
in  this  valley  and  yet  not  half  fill  it ;  and  round  it, 
set  against  the  base  of  the  hills,  in  great  courts 
enclosed  in  pinkish-red  walls,  the  counterpart  of 
those  round  the  Forbidden  City,  and  planted  with 
cypress  and  pine,  are  the  various  tombs.  A  magni- 
ficent resting-place,  truly!  And  the  dignity  is 
enhanced  by  the  desolate  approach.  Through  the 
p'ia  lou  is  the  famous  Holy  Way,  the  avenue  of 
marble  animals,  of  which  all  the  world  has  so  often 
heard.  What  mystic  significance  had  the  marble 
elephant  and  the  camel,  the  kneeling  horse  and  the 
sedate  scholar?  Possibly  they  had  no  more  than 
the  general  suggestion  that  all  things  did  honour  to 
the  mighty  dead  laid  away  in  their  tombs.  A  paved 
way  runs  between  them,  paved  with  great  blocks  of 
marble  brought  from  the  hills,  placed  there  in 
bygone  ages  by  the  hands  of  slaves,  sweating  and 
struggling  under  their  loads,  or  possibly  by  men 
just  exactly  like  the  men  who  were  bearing  me,  men 
slaves  in  all  but  name,  who  each  day  must  earn  a 


124  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

few  pence  or  go  under  in  the  pitiful  struggle  for  life. 
The  paved  way  that  runs  on  for  three  miles  is  worn 
and  broken,  the  grass  comes  up  between  the  blocks, 
the  bridges  are  falling  into  disrepair,  but  these 
things  are  trifles  in  the  face  of  the  amphitheatre  set 
among  the  eternal  hills,  the  blue  sky  and  the  sun- 
shine, these  are  a  memorial  here,  a  memorial  that 
makes  the  work  of  men's  hands  but  a  small  thing. 

Nevertheless  that  work  is  very  wonderful.  No 
one,  I  suppose,  except  he  were  making  Chinese  art 
or  antiquities  a  special  study,  would  visit  every  tomb 
in  turn.  It  would  take  a  week,  and  we,  like  the 
majority  of  visitors,  contented  ourselves  with  that 
of  Yung  Lo,  the  principal  one.  And  here  is  a 
curious  thing  worth  noting,  a  thing  that  possibly 
would  happen  nowhere  else  in  the  world,  showing 
how  irrevocably  China  feels  herself  bound  to  the 
past.  The  Ming  Emperor  was  a  Chinese,  and  the 
Republic  that  has  just  overthrown  the  Manchu 
Dynasty,  is  also  Chinese,  so  as  a  mark  of  respect, 
they  have  repaired,  after  a  fashion,  this,  the  tomb 
of  the  greatest  of  the  Ming  Emperors.  That  is  to 
say — oh  China!  they  have  whitewashed  the  marble, 
painted  the  golden-brown  tiled  roof  of  the  temple, 
and  swept  and  garnished  the  great  audience  hall. 

A  tomb  in  China  reminds  me  in  no  way  of  death. 
We  entered  through  a  door  studded  with  heavy 
brazen  knobs  a  grass-grown  courtyard,  where  were 
trees,  pine  and  cypress.  We  went  along  a  paved 
way,  and  before  us  was  a  building  with  a  curved 
roof,  with  the  tiles  broken  here  and  there ;  it  was  set 
on  a  platform  reached  by  flights  of  marble  steps,  or 
rather  the  flights  of  steps  were  on  either  side,  while 
in  the  centre  was  a  ramp  on  which  was  beautifully 


ONE  OF  THE  WORLD'S  WONDERS   125 

carved  in  relief  the  dragon,  the  sign  of  Empire, 
and  the  horse,  which  I  have  heard  some  people 
say  is  the  sign  of  good-fortune.  On  the  platform, 
through  all  the  cracks  in  the  marble,  violets  were 
forcing  their  way,  making  a  purple  carpet  under  the 
golden  sunshine.  We  crossed  to  a  hall,  which  is 
surely  most  wonderful.  The  light  was  subdued  a 
little,  and  the  hall  that  contains  in  its  centre  the 
memorial  tablet  of  red  and  gold  is  as  magnificent 
in  its  proportions  as  York  Minster.  The  roof  is 
supported  by  trunks  of  sandal-wood  trees,  smooth, 
straight,  and  brown,  they  run  sixty  feet  up  to  the 
roof,  and  after  more  than  five  hundred  years  the  air 
is  heavy  with  the  sensuous  scent  of  them.  Where 
did  they  get  that  sandal-wood,  those  trunks  all  of 
such  noble  proportions?  They  must  have  cost  an 
immense  sum  of  money,  for  they  never  grew  in 
Northern  China. 

Another  courtyard  is  behind  this  hall  of  audience, 
where  is  a  marble  fountain,  whitewashed,  and  a 
spring  that  is  supposed  to  cure  all  ills  of  the  eyes, 
and  a  door  apparently  leading  into  a  hill-side,  behind 
which  is  a  grove  of  cypress  trees.  The  door  being 
opened,  we  entered  a  paved  tunnel  which  led 
upwards  to  a  chamber  in  the  heart  of  the  hill, 
whence  two  more  ramps  led  still  upwards,  one  to 
the  right  and  the  other  to  the  left,  into  the  open  air 
again.  Here  the  coffin  was  placed  in  the  mound 
through  the  top  of  the  ramp.  The  stones  with 
which  the  ramps  were  paved  were  worn  and  slippery, 
the  angle  was  steep,  the  leaves  from  the  trees  out- 
side had  drifted  in,  and  the  effect  was  strange  and 
weird.  Nowhere  else  but  in  China  could  such  a 
thing  be.  And  right  on  top  of  the  mound,  over  the 


126  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

actual  grave,  is  another  memorial  tablet  to  the  dead 
Emperor,  looking  away  out  over  the  valley  to  the 
stony  hills,  that  are  the  wall  which  hedges  off  this 
sacred  place  from  the  outside  world. 

And  Yung  Lo,  the  Emperor,  died  in  the  first 
half  of  the  fifteenth  century.  How  many  people  in 
England  know  or  care,  where  Henry  V.  lies  buried? 

The  evening  was  falling  when  we  went  back  by 
the  stony  mule  path,  by  the  little  stony  villages, 
where  the  mothers  were  calling  their  children  in 
from  the  fields,  and  the  men  were  gathering  at  the 
meeting-places  for  the  evening  gossip.  Of  what 
did  they  talk?  Of  the  Emperor  dead  in  his  tomb 
hundreds  of  years  ago  ?  Of  the  New  Republic  away 
in  the  capital?  The  Emperor  seemed  somehow 
nearer  to  the  village  people.  There  was  the  sound 
of  quaint,  tuneless,  Eastern  music,  and  sitting  with 
the  sun  on  his  sightless  face,  surrounded  by  a 
listening  little  crowd,  was  a  blind  musician  holding 
across  his  knees  a  sort  of  lute.  The  people  turned 
and  watched  as  the  strangers  and  the  aliens  passed, 
and  the  musician  thrummed  on.  Light  or  dark  was 
the  same  to  him.  The  clouds  piled  now  in  the 
western  sky,  and  the  stony  land  looked  unutterably 
dreary  in  the  gathering  gloom,  the  coolies  must 
have  been  weary,  but  they  went  steadily  on,  chang- 
ing the  chair  pole  from  one  shoulder  to  the  other. 
Tne  slopes  that  had  been  hard  to  scramble  up  were 
harder  to  scramble  down,  but  they  made  no  com- 
plaint. This  was  their  work,  and  the  night  was 
coming  when  they  might  rest.  The  night  was 
coming  fast,  but  we  were  nearing  the  end  of  our 
journey.  The  hills  looked  cold,  and  gloomy,  and 
threatening,  and  then  the  heavy  clouds  above  them 


w 

E'-a 

to  ^ 

o  <» 

«  3> 

w  <». 

s  - 


ONE  OF  THE  WORLD'S  WONDERS   127 

broke,  and  through  them  burst  the  setting  sun  in  all 
the  glory  of  silver,  and  purple,  and  ruddy  gold. 
Down  on  the  barren  hills,  like  a  benediction,  fell 
his  last  rays,  telling  of  hope  for  the  morrow,  and  we 
turned  into  the  yard  of  the  little  inn,  and  the  coolies 
bowed  themselves  to  the  ground,  one  after  the  other, 
because  they  got  a  pitiful  little  over  and  above  their 
hard-earned  wages. 

And  the  next  day  we  went  back  to  Peking,  back 
through  the  pass. 

The  Ching  Er  Hotel  provided  tiffin  on  the  train, 
curried  chicken  and  mutton  chops,  some  form  of 
cakey  pudding,  cheese,  and  bread  and  butter,  all 
excellent  in  its  way — and  we  were  all  so  amiable, 
even  the  poet  had  come  down  from  the  clouds  and 
joined  us,  that  we  only  laughed  when  we  found  we 
were  expected  to  pile  all  these  good  things  on  one 
plate,  and  do  it  quickly  before  the  train  left! 

As  we  were  eating  it,  the  guard  came  round  and 
collected  one  dollar  and  ninety  cents  extra  apiece, 
because  we  had  ridden  on  the  observation-car.  We 
paid,  and  said  hard  things  about  the  millionaire,  but 
a  little  more  knowledge  of  ways  Chinese  has  con- 
vinced me  we  accused  him  unjustly.  I  feel  sure 
that  enterprising  and  observant  guard  took  stock  of 
us,  saw  that  we  did  not  know  the  American,  and 
collected,  for  the  benefit  of  a  highly  intelligent,  and 
truly  deserving  Chinese  railway  official. 

We  seldom  think  of  the  Chinaman  with  the 
glamour  of  romance,  but  this  Nankou  Pass  is  well- 
calculated  to  upset  all  our  former  ideas,  and  give  us  a 
setting  for  China  such  as  might  apply  to  barbaric 
Italy  or  Provence  of  the  Middle  Ages,  only — and  it 
is  well  to  remember,  what  we  barbarians  of  the  West 


128  A  WOMAN  IN   CHINA 

are  apt  to  forget — that  in  China,  things  have  always 
moved  in  mightier  orbits,  that  where  there  were  ten 
men  in  the  Western  world,  you  may  count  a 
hundred  in  China,  for  a  hundred  a  thousand,  for  a 
thousand  ten  thousand. 

What  must  the  Nankou  Pass  have  been  like  on 
some  bitter  night  in  winter,  when  the  stars  were  like 
points  of  steel,  and  the  stream  was  frozen  in  a  grip  of 
iron,  and  the  still  air  was  keen,  and  hard,  and  cold, 
with  the  bitter,  biting  sting  of  the  northern  winter? 
When  the  fires  blazed  in  the  beacons  on  the  hill- 
sides, flinging  their  ruddy  light,  their  message  of 
fear  and  warning.  The  keepers  of  the  Wall  were 
failing,  the  Mongol  hordes  were  pouring  over  the 
barrier,  and  it  behoved  every  man  who  saw  that 
ruddy  glare  to  arm  and  come  to  the  keeping  of  the 
Pass,  to  die  in  its  guarding.  They  died  and  they 
held  it,  and  they  died  and  the  invaders  flung  their 
bodies  to  the  wolves  and  the  crows,  and  swept  on 
and  took  the  country  beyond  for  their  own. 

But  the  country  to  the  south  is  China,  China  of 
the  ages  and  she  absorbs  nations,  Mongol  or 
Manchu,  or  men  from  her  western  bordersA  and 
makes  them  one  with  herself. 

This  is  the  message  I  read  in  the  Nankou  Pass. 
I  have  changed  my  mind  again  and  again,  and 
generally  I  do  not  believe  what  I  read  that  day. 
But  it  was  firmly  impressed  on  me  then.  China  is 
not  dead.  The  spirit  that  conceived  and  built  that 
mighty  Wall  is  a  living  thing  still.  All  down  the 
Pass,  alongside  the  age-old  mule  track,  runs  a  new 
road,  a  road  of  the  West,  a  railway,  planned,  and 
laid,  and  built  entirely  by  Chinese  without  any 
Western  help  except  such  as  the  sons  of  China  got 


ONE  OF  THE  WORLD'S  WONDERS   129 

for  themselves  in  the  schools  of  America  and  Eng- 
land.    And  it  is  not  only  well  and  truly  laid,  as  well 
as,  and  better  than,  many  a  Western  railway,  but 
behold  the  spirit  of  China  has  entered  in,  the  spirit, 
not  of  her  poor,  struggling  for  a  crust  of  bread,  a 
mess  of  meal,  but  the  spirit  of  the  men  who  con- 
ceived and  planned  the  Wall,  the  beautiful  Lama 
Temple,   or  the   spacious   courtyards  and  glorious 
palaces  of  the  Forbidden  City.     They  have  built 
embankments  and  curves,  tunnels  and  archways  that 
are  things  of  beauty,  and  glorious  to  look  upon,  as 
surely  never  was  railway  before.     They  have  built, 
and  it  is  saying  a  great  deal,  a  railway  that  is  worthy 
of  the  Nankou  Pass.     They  are  the  lineal  descend- 
ants of  the  men,  who,  two  thousand  years  ago,  built 
the  Great  Wall.     Hail  and  all  hail! 

And  then  a  railway  man  talked  to  me.     The  rail- 
way might  be  beautiful,  but  it  was  costly  beyond  all 
excuse.     The    best   of    the   ideas   had   come   from 
Europe,  certainly  these  highly  civilised,  these  over- 
civilised  people  might  be  trusted  to  see  and  make 
a  beautiful  thing,  the  question  was,  could  they  be 
trusted  to  manage  a  railway  as  a  railway  should  be 
managed?     He  thought  not.     They  had  somehow 
lost  force.     Well,  we  shall  see.     One  thing  seems 
certain,  between  us  Westerners  and  the  Chinese,  is 
a  great  gulf  fixed.     We  look  across  and  sometimes 
we  wonder,  and  sometimes  we  pity,  and  sometimes 
we  admire,  but  we  cannot  understand. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

TWO    CHARITIES 

The  manufacturing  of  the  blind — "  Before  born  " — The  Rev. 
Hill  Murray — "  The  Message  " — Geography — Marriage — A 
brave  little  explorer — Massacre  of  the  blind — Deposits  of  one 
tael — A  missionary  career — The  charitable  Chinese — A 
Buddhist  orphanage — Invitation  to  a  funeral — An  intellectual 
abbot — The  youngest  orphan — Pity  and  mercy. 

THE  blind  musician  I  had  seen  playing  to  the  village 
folk  with  the  setting  sun,  that  he  could  not  see,  on 
his  face,  remained  in  my  mind.     Why  especially,  I 
do  not  know,  for  it  is  a  common  enough  sight  in 
China.     Terrible  as  is  the  affliction,  the  Chinese,  by 
their  insanitary  habits,  more  or  less  manufacture  their 
blind.     The  cult  of  the  bath  is  not  theirs  yet,  they 
live,   apparently  happily,   amongst  filthy  surround- 
ings, they  neglect  the  eyes  of  the  new-born  child, 
they  suffer  from  smallpox,  and  ophthalmia,  and  the 
barber  with  his  infected  razor  shaves,  not  only  close 
round  the  outside,  but  with  the  laudable  intention  of 
making  all  clean  and  neat,  as  far  down  as  he  can  get 
round  the  delicate  inside  of  the  eyelid.     The  result 
one  may  see  any  day  in  the  streets  of  Peking,  or  any 
Chinese    town.     A   beggar   in    China    is   always   a 
horrible-looking   object.     He    belongs    to    a    guild. 
His  intention  is  to  attract  pity,  and  it  would  seem 
to  him  going  the  wrong  way  about  it,  to  begin  by 
being  neat  and  clean.     Besides,  though  many  people 

130 


TWO   CHARITIES  131 

in  China  are  neat,  I  suspect  very  few  of  them  are 
what   we    arrogant   Westerners   would   describe    as 
clean,  and  among  a  dirty  people,  the  blind  beggar 
stands  out,  pre-eminent,  as  the  filthiest  creature  I 
have  ever  seen.     On  the  roadside,  again  and  again 
in  a  country  place  where  many  people  are  passing,  I 
have  seen  a  half-naked  man,  who  looked  as  if  he 
had  never  since  his  birth  even  looked  at  water,  clad, 
or  rather  half-clad,  in  filthy  rags  with  raw  red  sores 
where    his   eyes    should   have    been.      He    was    so 
horrible,  so  ghastly  a  specimen  of  humanity  that  he 
seemed  almost  beyond  pity.     And  yet  a  blind  person 
always  receives  a  certain  amount  of  respect  and  con- 
sideration from  the  Chinese,  even  from  the  poorest 
Chinese.     Never  in  his  hearing  would  the  roughest 
rickshaw  coolie  call  him  "  Hsia  Tze  "  that  is  "  Blind 
man."     That  would  be  discourteous.     Though  he 
be  only  a  beggar,  forlorn,  hungry,  unkempt,  he  is 
still  addressed  by  all  passers  as  "  Hsien  Sheng," 
"  Before  Born,"  a  title  of  respect  that  is  given  to 
teachers,  doctors,   and  men  of  superior  rank  and 
age. 

Hard  though,  in  spite  of  the  respect  that  is  paid 
them,  must  be  the  lot  of  those  who  are  handicapped 
by  the  loss  of  sight.  It  Is  hard  in  any  land,  but  in 
China,  where  even  among  those  in  full  possession  of 
their  senses,  there  are  hundreds  of  thousands  just 
on  the  verge  of  starvation,  the  touch  needed  to  send 
a  man  over  the  brink  is  very,  very  slight  indeed. 
Not  even  the  close  family  ties  of  the  Chinese  can 
help  them  much,  for  where  the  strongest  suffer,  the 
weak  must  go  to  the  wall.  And  there  are  very  few 
crafts  open  to  the  blind  man.  He  may  be  a  story- 
teller, or  a  fortune-teller,  or  a  musician,  I  cannot 


132  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

imagine  what  he  would  do  if  his  talents  did  not  run 
in  those  lines,  and  even  then  he  is  dependent  upon 
the  doles  of  a  people  who  have  very,  very  little  to 
give  away,  and  naturally  guard  that  little  carefully. 
Once  blind  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  done.  The 
beautiful  blue  sky  of  China,  the  golden  sunshine 
have  gone,  and  in  its  place  there  is  the  darkness, 
warm  sometimes,  bitter  cold  sometimes,  the  envelop- 
ing darkness  that  means  for  so  many  helplessness 
and  starvation,  often  at  the  very  best  semi-starvation, 
borne  with  the  uncomplaining  stoicism  of  the 
Chinese. 

Now  once  upon  a  time  a  man  stood  upon  the 
Beggars'  Bridge  in  Peking,  outside  the  walls  of  the 
Tartar  City,  selling  Bibles,  and  noticed  as  everyone 
must  do,  the  number  of  blind  who  passed  by.  Was 
there  none  to  pity,  asked  the  Rev.  Hill  Murray, 
none  among  all  those  who  had  devoted  their  lives  to 
bringing  the  Gospel  to  the  heathen  to  help? 

"What?"  said  some.  "When  you  know  that 
already  the  Chinese  declare  we  missionaries  take  the 
children  for  the  sake  of  making  medicine  of  their 
eyes,  will  you  give  colour  to  the  accusation  by  setting 
up  a  mission  to  the  blind  ?  "  And  then,  when  he 
still  persisted,  "  They  need  us,  they  need  us,"  they 
said :  "  Since  you  are  so  keen,  why  don't  you  do  it 
yourself?" 

To  him  it  was  "  The  Message."  Why  should  he 
not  do  it  himself?  And  there  and  then  he  set  to 
work.  It  was  years  ago.  What  the  cost,  what  the 
struggle,  I  do  not  know.  I  only  know  that  one 
sunny  April  day  wandering  round  Peking  in  a  hu 
t'ung  in  the  east  of  the  Tartar  City  I  came  upon  the 
house,  or  rather,  for  it  is  all  done  Chinese  fashion, 


MISSION  TO  THE  BLIND,   PEKING. 


GIRLS  AT  MISSION  TO  THE  BLIND. 


TWO   CHARITIES  133 

the  nest  of  little  houses  with  their  courtyards  and 
little  gardens,  that  is  the  Mission  to  the  Blind. 

The  Rev.  Hill  Murray  is  gone  to  his  rest,  but  his 
wife  and  daughters  keep  up  the  Mission,  waiting  for 
the  time  when  his  young  son,  away  in  England  train- 
ing, shall  be  ready  to  take  his  place.  Fifty  pupils, 
boys  and  girls,  the  missionaries  send  in  from  the 
various  stations,  and  here  they  are  taught,  taught 
to  read  and  write  according  to  the  Braille  system, 
taught  to  play  musical  instruments,  and  prepared 
for  being  preachers,  which  of  course  the  mission- 
aries consider  the  most  important  avocation  of  all. 
I,  in  my  turn,  am  only  concerned  that  the  unfor- 
tunate should  be  happy,  or  as  happy  as  he  can  be 
under  the  circumstances,  and  I  should  think  that  the 
preacher,  the  man  who  feels  himself  of  some  impor- 
tance in  spite  of  his  affliction,  competent  to  instruct 
his  fellows  in  what,  to  him,  is  a  matter  of  deep 
moment,  has  possibly  the  best  chance  of  happiness. 
The  girls  are  taught  much  the  same  as  the  boys,  and 
in  addition  to  knit,  and  such  household  work  as  they 
are  capable  of. 

It  seemed  to  me  sad,  when  I  went  there  one  bright 
sunny  morning,  that  these  young  things  should  be 
for  ever  in  the  dark,  but  I  am  bound  to  say  it  was 
only  my  thoughts  that  were  sad.  The  girls  came 
laughing  into  the  front  courtyard  with  their  knitting 
in  their  hands  to  see — see,  save  the  mark! — 'the 
stranger,  and  have  their  photographs  taken.  The 
sun,  the  golden  sun  of  April,  streamed  down  on  the 
stone-paved  courtyard,  all  the  plants  in  pots  were  in 
bloom,  and  the  girls,  dressed  in  Chinese  fashion, 
made  deep  obeisance  in  the  direction  they  were  told 
I  was.  All  around  were  the  quaint  roofs,  dainty 


134  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

lattice-work  windows,  and  Eastern  surroundings  of 
a  Chinese  house,  and  the  girls  were  grave  at  first, 
because  they  were  being  introduced  to  an  older 
woman,  and  one  whom  they  thought  was  their 
superior,  therefore  they  thought  it  was  not  fitting 
they  should  laugh  and  talk,  but  when  I  remarked 
on  their  gravity,  Miss  Murray,  shepherding  them, 
laughed. 

"  Oh  they  are  very  happy.  They  don't  feel  their 
lot,  not  yet  at  any  rate.  They  are  proud  because 
they  have  learned  so  much.  They  can  read  and 
write,  they  can  knit,  and  they  have  learned 
geography." 

Geography  seemed  a  great  asset,  and  presently, 
they,  when  they  knew  they  might,  were  laughing  and 
talking,  and  saying  how  proud  they  were  to  have 
their  photographs  taken.  They  sat  there  knitting, 
and  even  while  they  talked,  did  exactly  what  they 
were  told,  for  like  all  Chinese,  they  have  a  great 
sense  of  the  fitting.  On  one  occasion  a  friend 
brought  in  a  gramophone  and  set  it  going  for  their 
amusement. 

"  I  could  have  shaken  them  all,"  said  Miss  Murray, 
"  they  received  the  funniest  sallies  in  solemn  silence," 
and  when  the  entertainer  was  gone,  she  reproached 
them,  "  You  never  even  smiled." 

A  dozen  eager  voices  responded.  "  Oh  but  it 
was  so  hard  not  to  laugh.  We  wanted  to  so  much, 
but  we  thought  it  would  not  be  right.  It  was  so 
hard." 

The  lot  of  all  women  in  China  is  hard;  doubly 
hard,  it  seemed  to  me,  must  the  lot  of  these  poor 
little  girls  be,  cut  off  from  the  only  hope  of  happiness 
a  Chinese  woman  has,  the  chance  of  bearing  a  son. 


TWO   CHARITIES  135 

"  And  they  can  never  marry,"  I  said  sorrowfully  to 
Miss  Murray. 

There  came  a  smile  into  her  bright  young  eyes. 
"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Some  of  them  may.  They 
are  so  very  well-educated,  and  the  Chinese  admire 
education,  and  in  a  Chinese  household,  where  there 
are  so  many  people  to  do  the  work,  a  blind  wife 
would  not  be  so  useless.  Only  the  other  day  we 
heard  of  the  marriage  of  one  of  our  girls." 

And  I  looked  at  them  again  with  other  eyes,  and 
hoped  there  were  many  households  that  would  like 
a  wife  for  their  son  who  knew  geography. 

We  went  from  the  outer  to  the  inner  courtyard,  a 
rock  garden  where,  in  true  Chinese  fashion,  are  set 
out  plants  and  rockeries,  a  little  winding  river  with 
a  stone  bridge  across  it,  a  miniature  lake — there  is 
no  water  in  it  now — and  many  creeping  plants  hiding 
the  stones.  It  is  a  charming  spot,  but  naturally  the 
blind  are  not  allowed  to  go  there  by  themselves.  It 
is  too  dangerous.  However,  on  one  occasion,  one 
curious  little  boy  objected  to  these  restrictions,  and 
went  on  an  exploring  expedition  on  his  own  account. 
Groping  about  in  the  darkness,  he  fell  into  the  river, 
which  has  steep  cement  sides,  and  out  of  that  he 
could  not  get.  You  would  think  that  he  would  have 
yelled  lustily  to  call  attention  to  his  predicament,  but 
that  is  not  the  Chinese  way.  He  had  disobeyed, 
Fate  was  against  him,  and  he  must  suffer,  and  there 
he  lay  the  livelong  day  without  a  murmur,  and  not 
till  they  called  the  roll  in  the  evening,  was  his 
absence  discovered,  and  a  search  for  him  instituted. 
Even  that  lesson  was  not  sufficient,  for  once  again 
he  was  missing,  and  once  again  he  was  discovered 
fallen  into  one  of  the  many  traps  of  the  rock  garden. 


136  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

It  was  unexplored  country  to  him,  and  he  was  willing 
to  risk  much  to  see  what  it  was  like. 

In  the  parts  of  the  house  with  which  they  are 
familiar  they  can  all  run  about,  up  and  down  steps, 
and  in  and  out  of  courtyards  and  down  passages  as 
easily  as  people  with  sight.  The  boys  came  out  of 
their  class-rooms  where  they  learn  to  read,  and  write, 
and  sing,  and  play  the  harmonium,  and  raced  about 
much  as  other  boys  in  other  lands  would  do. 

They  have  two  meals  a  day — one  in  the  morning 
and  one  at  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  as  muc  a 
tea  and  bread  at  other  times  as  they  care  to  have. 
Mrs  Murray  apologised  for  the  dampness  of  the 
stones  of  the  dining-room  floor.  It  is  a  Chinese 
house,  and  stone  floors  are  not  a  sign  of  poverty. 
These  stones  are  damp  because  at  twelve  o'clock  the 
boys  come  and  pour  themselves  out  cups  of  tea, 
and  naturally  they  make  a  mess.  The  cook  is  busy, 
he  cannot  be  with  them  always.  For  this  charity  is 
run  on  very  simple  lines,  and  the  people  who  see 
are  very  few.  There  is  the  cook  and  the  house- 
coolie,  a  woman  for  the  girls,  a  doorkeeper,  frail  and 
old,  he  may  be  seen  standing  just  outside  the  door 
in  the  picture  of  the  hu  t'ung,  and  a  couple  of  men 
who  attend  to  the  making  of  the  Braille  books,  for 
their  making  and  binding  requires  the  attention  of 
someone  with  sight.  But  with  these  exceptions,  the 
blind  have  it  all  to  themselves ;  they  learn,  and  they 
play,  and  they  eat  by  themselves. 

In  one  of  the  pictures  I  have  taken,  the  boys  have 
come  out  of  school  and  are  playing  cat  and  mouse. 
All  join  hands  in  a  circle,  and  one  boy  creeping  in 
and  out  softly  is  chased  by  another.  How  they 
manage  it  in  their  darkness  I  don't  know,  but  they 


TWO   CHARITIES  187 

chattered,  and  laughed,  and  shouted  happily  though 
what  they  said  of  course  I  did  not  know.  They 
are  all,  boys  and  girls  alike,  dressed  in  the  ordinary 
blue  cotton  of  the  country ;  the  boys  had  their  hair 
cut  short,  for  nowadays  the  queue,  that  most  curious 
of  fashions  in  the  dressing  of  hair,  is  going  out.  The 
girls  were  also  dressed  like  the  peasants,  with  their 
trousers  neatly  drawn  in  at  the  ankles  and  their 
smooth,  straight  hair  drawn  back  and  plaited  in  a 
tail  down  the  back,  much  like  an  English  schoolgirl ; 
the  little  ones  though,  have  their  heads  shaven  in 
front,  very  ugly,  but  in  conformation  with  Chinese 
custom,  which  always  shaves  part  at  least  of  the 
little  one's  head. 

In  the  courtyard  where  the  boys  were  playing, 
was  a  rocking-horse,  a  dilapidated  and  battered  toy 
without  either  tail,  or  mane,  or  eyes.  And  this  toy 
is  pathetic,  when  you  know  its  history.  It  was 
bought  with  the  pennies  saved  by  Mr  Hill  Murray's 
children.  They,  too,  out  of  their  small  store, 
wanted  to  do  something  for  the  blind ;  and  the  blind 
children,  immediately  it  came  into  their  possession, 
took  out  its  eyes.  They  were  not  going  to  have  the 
rocking-horse  spying  on  them  when  they  could  not 
see  themselves. 

They  all  wisely  live  in  native  fashion.  Their  food 
is  the  food  of  the  well-to-do  lower  classes,  plenty  of 
bread,  steamed  instead  of  being  baked,  and  plenty 
of  vegetables  and  soup,  with  just  a  little  meat  in  it ; 
the  food  to  which  they  have  been  accustomed,  and 
which  they  like  best.  Their  beds,  I  have  tried  to 
depict  one,  are  just  the  ordinary  k'ang,  a  stone  plat- 
form to  hold  three  in  summer,  and  five  in  winter. 
Under  it  is  a  small  fireplace  where  a  fire  can  be  built 


138  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

to  warm  it,  above,  it  is  covered  with  matting,  and 
each  boy  spreads  his  own  bed  of  quilted  cotton, 
which  is  rolled  up  in  the  daytime. 

I  would  have  thought  that  the  Mission  to  the  Blind 
was  so  good  and  great  a  thing  that  it  could  rouse  no 
bitter  feelings  in  any  breast.  It  has  for  its  object 
the  succouring  of  those  whom  the  Chinese  them- 
selves treat  with  great  respect,  yet  so  fanatical  was 
the  Boxer  outbreak,  that  in  the  hu  t'ung  outside  the 
Mission,  forty  of  the  pupils  and  their  teachers,  help- 
less in  their  affliction,  were  done  to  death  by  those 
who  would  have  none  of  the  Westerner  and  his 
works,  even  though  those  works  were  works  of 
mercy. 

More  often,  perhaps,  in  China  than  anywhere  in 
the  world  where  I  have  been,  am  I  reminded  of  the 
passage  in  Holy  Writ  that  tells  how  as  the  Man  of 
Pity  came  nigh  unto  Jericho  a  certain  blind  man 
sat  by  the  wayside  begging.  And,  hearing  the  multi- 
tude pass  by,  he  asked  what  it  meant,  and  they  told 
him,  "  Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by."  We  may  not 
give  sight  to  the  blind  nowadays,  but  if  we  walk  in  the 
streets  of  Peking,  and  then  turn  in  to  the  Mission 
to  the  Blind  with  its  kindly  care  for  the  helpless,  and 
its  brightening  of  darkened  lives,  we  know  that  that 
man  who  stood  on  the  Beggars'  Bridge  pitied,  as 
his  Master  had  pitied  before  him.  All  that  he  could 
do  he  has  done,  and  those  who  have  come  after  him 
have  followed  faithfully  in  his  footsteps,  can  any 
man  do  more  ?  I  think  not.  Truly  I  think  not. 

"  What  wilt  thou  that  I  shall  do  unto  thee  ?  "  asked 
the  Lord  of  the  World  of  the  blind  beggar. 

And  he  said,  "  Lord  that  I  may  receive  my  sight." 

Those  who  charge  themselves  with  the  care  of  the 


BLIND  BOYS  COMING  OUT  OF  SCHOOL. 


BLIND  BOYS  PLAYING  "CAT  AND  MOUSE.1 


TWO   CHARITIES  189 

blind  may  not  give  so  royally  now.  Theirs  is  the 
harder  part,  they  tend  and  care  with  unfailing 
patience,  untiring  diligence,  and  then  they  stand, 
and  wait. 

I  was  so  lost  in  my  admiration  for  the  Mission  to 
the  Blind,  that  I  began  to  think  and  to  say,  that 
missionary  enterprise,  which  I  had  always  thought 
should  turn  its  attention  to  its  own  people,  was  at 
least  justified  in  this  land  of  China,  where  no  pro- 
vision was  made  for  the  sick  and  afflicted,  and  where 
charity  was  unknown.  I  said  it  very  often,  and 
every  foreigner  approved,  until  at  last,  there  came 
one  or  two  who  promptly  showed  me  the  utter  folly 
of  drawing  deductions  when  I  didn't  know  anything 
about  the  facts. 

The  foreigner  in  China  is  divided  into  two  camps. 
He  is  either  missionary  or  he  is  anti-missionary. 
Both  sides  are  keen  on  the  matter.  And,  of  course, 
there  are  always  two  sides  to  every  question,  as  the 
little  girl  saw  whose  sympathies  went  out  to  the  poor 
lion,  who  hadn't  got  a  Christian. 

China  needs  medical  missionaries,  needs  them  as 
badly  as  the  city  slums  of  London  or  New  York; 
and  China  is  going  to  get  them,  for  there  are 
thousands  of  people  who  think  a  deal  more  of  the 
state  of  the  soul  of  the  materialistic  Chinaman  than 
they  do  of  the  starving  bodies,  and  more  than  starved 
intellects  of  the  slum  children  of  a  Christian  land. 
Formerly  the  missionary  had  a  worse  time  than  he 
has  now.  He  came  among  a  people  who  despised 
him,  and  more  than  once  he  suffered  martyrdom, 
and  even  when  there  was  no  question  of  martyrdom, 
some  of  the  regulations  he  submitted  to  must  have 
been  unpleasant.  Unwisely  I  think,  for  you  can 


140  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

never  make  a  European  look  like  a  Chinaman,  the 
powers  that  ran  the  missionary  societies,  decided 
that  the  missionary  must  wear  Chinese  dress,  even 
to  the  shaven  head  and  the  queue  behind.  A 
hatchet-faced  Scot  with  a  fiery  red  pigtail,  they  say 
was  an  awesome  sight,  certainly  calculated  to  impress 
the  Celestial,  though  whether  in  the  way  the  new- 
comer intended  I  should  not  like  to  say.  The 
growing  of  a  proper  queue  was,  of  course,  a  question 
of  months,  and  the  majority  of  missionaries  began 
their  career  with  a  false  one.  A  story  is  told  of  one 
luckless  young  man  in  Shanghai  who  lost  his,  and 
went  about  his  business  for  some  little  time  unaware 
of  the  fact.  When  he  did  discover  his  loss  he  went 
back  on  his  tracks,  searching  for  it  at  all  the  places 
he  had  visited.  At  last  he  arrived  at  the  Hong- 
Kong  and  Shanghai  Bank,  and  there,  pinned  high 
on  the  wall,  was  his  missing  property,  and  attached 
to  it  by  some  facetious  clerk  was  the  legend  in  great 
letters  that  all  might  read :  "  Deposits  of  one  tael  not 
accepted  here !  "  For  the  benefit  of  the  uninitiated, 
one  tael  is  a  sum  of  money,  varying  with  the  price  of 
silver,  from  half-a-crown  to  three  shillings. 

But  those  days  are  gone  by.  Nowadays  mission- 
ary societies  are  wiser,  and  the  medical  missionaries 
are  pleasant,  cheerful,  hard-working  men  and  women 
doing  an  immense  amount  of  good  among  the  suffer- 
ing poor,  so  kindly,  so  thoughtful  are  they  that  I 
grudge  their  services  to  the  heathen  when  I  think  how 
many  of  the  children,  aye  and  those  who  are  not 
children,  in  the  mean  streets  of  the  great  cities  of  the 
West  need  their  services.  They  trouble  themselves 
about  the  souls  of  the  people  too,  and  the  example  of 
kindly  lives  must  be  good.  Again  I  grudge  it  all  to 


TWO   CHARITIES  141 

the  Oriental,  though  I  have  come  to  realise  that  there 
are  many  ways  of  doing  good  in  the  world.  I  do 
occasionally  feel  that  the  missionaries  are  a  little 
too  strenuous  in  inculcating  prayer  and  praise,  and 
exhorting  to  a  virtue  that  is  a  little  beyond  the 
average  mortal.  The  caring  for  both  bodies  and 
souls  can  certainly  be  overdone.  However  I  dare 
say  it  all  works  right  in  the  end,  and  I,  who  do 
nothing,  should  be  the  last  to  judge.  Still  sometimes 
I  could  not  but  remember  the  picture  of  the  two 
babies  discussing  the  situation,  the  fat,  plump  baby, 
and  the  thin,  miserable,  scrawny  one. 

Said  the  thin  baby :  "  How  do  you  manage  to  keep 
so  fat?  My  milk's  sterilised,  and  the  milkman's 
sterilised,  and  even  the  cart's  sterilised,  and  yet 
look  at  me,"  and  he  stretched  out  his  thin,  starved 
hands. 

"  Ah,  so's  mine,"  said  the  fat  baby  serenely,  "  but, 
when  no  one's  looking,  I  climb  down  and  get  a  chew 
at  the  corner  of  the  floor-rug,  and  get  enough  bacteria 
to  keep  a  decent  life  in  me !  " 

Listening  to  the  talk  of  the  missionaries,  hearing 
of  the  foolishness  of  smoking,  the  wickedness  of 
alcoholic  drinks,  and  various  forms  of  sinfulness,  I 
have  rather  hoped,  and  more  than  suspected,  that  the 
converts  sometimes  got  down  and  had  a  chew  at  the 
corner  of  the  floor-rug  when  no  one  was  looking. 

Not  that  many  of  the  missionaries  don't  endeavour 
to  live  up  to  their  own  moral  code,  many  of  them  do, 
and  many  of  them  lead  lives  of  abnegation  and  self- 
denial.  We  all  know  that  the  missionary  of  the 
Church  of  Rome  gives  up  everything,  and  expects 
never  again  to  see  his  country  once  he  enters  the 
mission-field,  and  many  of  the  China  Inland  Mission- 


142  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

aries,  except  in  the  matter  of  celibacy,  run  them  close. 
Their  pay  is  very,  very  small,  no  holidays  can  be 
counted  upon,  and  their  lives  are  isolated  and  lonely. 
Even  the  American  missionary,  who  is  far  better 
paid,  gives  up  his  own  individuality.  The  ministers 
earn  more,  I  believe,  than  they  would  in  their  own 
country,  because  people  give  gladly  to  missions, 
while  at  home  the  minister's  salary  is  often  a  burning 
question.  "  Far  fields  are  ever  fair,"  but  a  clever 
surgeon  who  is  kept  hard  at  it  from  dawn  to  dark, 
once  the  Chinese  appreciate  him,  certainly  receives 
far  less  than  he  could  earn  working  for  himself.  He 
is  given  a  comfortable  home,  he  may  marry  and  have 
children  without  a  qualm,  for,  for  every  child  twenty 
pounds  a  year  is  allowed  till  he  is  of  age  ;  the  societies 
see  to  it  that  a  six  weeks'  holiday  is  given  every  year, 
and  a  year's  furlough  every  seven  years  with  passage 
paid  home  for  wife  and  children.  No  business  firm 
could  afford  to  make  more  comfortable  provision  for 
its  employees. 

In  China,  service  is  cheap  and  good,  the  food  and 
the  cooks  both  excellent,  and  the  climate,  at  least 
in  the  north,  exhilarating  and  delightful.  But  the 
missionaries  do  their  duty,  and  do  it  well,  and  they 
are  pioneers  of  Western  civilisation.  In  their  wake 
comes  trade,  though  that  is  the  last  thing  the 
majority  of  them  think  about.  The  only  trouble  for 
the  American  missionary  seems  to  me  the  danger 
that  hangs  over  every  dweller  in  China — a  danger 
they  share  with  every  other  foreign  resident.  It  is 
hard  to  think  of  danger  when  one  looks  at  the 
courteous,  subservient  Chinese,  but  Sir  Robert 
Hart  put  it  succinctly :  "  Anything  may  happen  at 
any  time  in  China."  And  for  all  the  New  Republic, 


TWO   CHARITIES  148 

and  for  all   the   fair  promise,    his   words    are    still 
worthy  of  attention. 

"  Do  you  really  think,"  said  R.  F.  Johnston,  the 
well-known    writer   on   things    Chinese,    "  that    the 
Chinese    knew   nothing    about    charity    till    it   was 
preached  to  them  by  Christian  missionaries  ?  " 
I  intimated  that  such  had  been  my  faith. 
"  The  Chinese,"  said  he,  a  little  indignantly,  "  are 
one  of  the  most  charitable  peoples  on  earth." 

And  then  he  told  me  what  I,  a  stranger  and 
ignorant  of  the  language,  might  have  gone  years 
without  learning.  To  begin  with,  family  ties  are  far 
stronger  in  China  than  in  European  countries,  and  a 
man  feels  himself  bound  to  help  his  helpless  relatives 
in  a  way  that  would  seem  absurd  to  the  average 
Christian,  and  in  addition  there  are  numerous 
societies  for  helping  those,  who,  by  some  mischance, 
have  no  one  upon  whom  they  can  depend.  There 
are  societies  for  succouring  the  sick,  societies  for 
looking  after  orphans,  and  other  kindly  institutions. 
There  are  even  societies  for  paying  poor  folks'  fares 
across  ferries!  There  certainly  are  a  good  many 
rivers  in  China,  but  this  society  I  must  admit  strikes 
me  as  a  work  of  supererogation.  I  don't  think  much 
merit  can  really  attach  to  the  subscribers,  for  the 
majority  of  poor  folks  I  have  seen  would  be  so 
much  better  for  walking  through  the  river,  clothes 
and  all. 

However,  we  have  a  good  few  foolish  charities  of 
our  own,  and  even  if  the  Chinese  charities  do  not 
cover  all  the  ground,  we  must  remember  that  China 
is,  in  so  many  things,  archaic;  and  these  charities 
run  on  archaic  lines  are  naturally  shocking  to  men 
steeped  in  the  sanitary  lore  of  the  West, 


144  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

We  have  only  to  read  the  novels  of  Charles 
Dickens  and  Charlotte  Bronte  to  see  a  few  flaws  in 
the  way  the  chanties  of  the  Early  Victorian  era  were 
administered ;  what  would  we  think  if  we  could  take 
a  peep  into  thetlazar-house  of  the  Middle  Ages — yet 
there  were  kind  hearts,  I  doubt  not,  in  the  Middle 
Ages — and  China,  with  her  overflowing  population, 
is  yet  in  the  matter  of  charity  where  we  were  some 
time  about  the  reign  of  the  seventh  Henry.  Could 
we  expect  much  ? 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  a  Buddhist  Orphanage  ?  " 
asked  Mr  Johnston. 

I  said  I  would,  and  he  promised  to  take  me  to 
one  they  were  trying  to  run  on  Western  lines. 

It  was  a  pleasantly  warm  Sunday,  with  a  wind 
blowing  that  lifted  the  filthy  dust  of  Peking  from 
the  roadways,  and  flung  it  in  our  faces.  We  inter- 
viewed first  two  rickshaw  coolies  with  a  view  to 
ascertaining  whether  they  knew  where  we  wanted  to 
go,  or  rather  he  interviewed  them,  for  I  have  no 
Chinese.  They  swore  they  did,  by  all  their  gods. 
Still  he  looked  doubtful. 

"Why  don't  you  take  them?"  said  I,  feeling 
mistakenly  that  nowhere  else  in  the  town  could  the 
dust  and  the  wind  be  quite  so  bad  as  just  outside  the 
Wagons  Lits  Hotel. 

"  Because  I  want  to  find  out  if  they  really  know 
where  we  want  to  go.  They  always  swear  they  do, 
for  fear  of  losing  the  job." 

However,  at  last  we  set  out  with  rickshaw  coolies 
who  seemed  to  have  a  working  knowledge  of  the 
route  we  wished  to  follow,  and  we  went  through 
the  Chien  Men  into  the  Chinese  City,  and  away  to 
the  west  through  a  maze  of  narrow  alley-ways,  hung 


TWO   CHARITIES  145 

with  long  Chinese  signs,  past  the  closely  packed, 
one-storied  shops  where  they  sold  china  and  earthen- 
ware, cotton  goods  and  food-stuffs,  lanterns,  and 
rows  of  uninteresting  Chinese  shoes.  The  streets 
of  course  were  thronged.  There  were  rickshaws, 
laden  donkeys,  broughams  with  Venetian  shutters  to 
shut  out  the  glare,  the  clanging  bell  and  outrider  to 
tell  that  some  important  man  was  passing,  mules, 
camels,  men  on  foot  with  or  without  burdens,  with 
bamboos  across  their  shoulders  and  loads  slung  from 
them,  and  some  few  women  tottering  along  on 
maimed  feet.  And  every  man  was  giving  his  opinion 
on  things  in  general  to  the  universe  at  the  top  of 
his  voice. 

"  How  I  wish  I  could  understand  what  they  were 
saying,"  I  said  to  my  companion  once,  when  the 
exigencies  of  the  way  brought  our  rickshaws  side 
by  side. 

He  laughed.  "  Sometimes  it's  as  well  you 
shouldn't."  And  then  he  corrected  himself  lest  I 
should  have  got  a  wrong  impression.  "  No,  on  the 
whole  they  are  very  polite  to  each  other." 

Once  we  came  upon  a  man  with  a  packet  of 
papers  in  his  hand.  He  was  standing  upon  some- 
thing to  raise  him  a  little  above  the  passing  crowd, 
and  distributing  the  papers  not  to  everyone,  but 
apparently  with  great  discrimination.  Both  of  us 
were  deemed  worthy  of  a  sheet,  and  I  wondered 
what  on  earth  the  hieroglyphics  could  mean.  It 
was  an  invitation  to  a  funeral,  my  cicerone  informed 
me,  the  next  time  we  were  in  speaking  distance. 
Some  woman,  who  had  been  working  for  a  broader 
education  for  women,  had  died,  and  her  friends  were 
going  to  mark  their  appreciation  of  her  labours  by 

K 


146  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

a  suitable  funeral.  So  is  the  change  coming  to 
China. 

As  we  went  on  the  houses  grew  fewer,  there  were 
open  spaces  where  kaoliang  and  millet  were  being 
reaped,  for  this,  my  second  charity,  I  visited  in 
September,  the  grey  walls  of  the  city  rose  up  before 
us,  and  still  there  was  no  sign  of  the  monastery. 
Our  men  were  panting,  the  sweat  was  running  down 
their  faces  and  staining  their  thin  coats,  still  they 
dragged  us  on,  never  dreaming  of  using  the  tongues 
Nature  had  given  them  to  lighten  their  labours.  To 
ask  the  way  would  have  been  to  show  the  foreigner 
in  the  rickshaw  that  they  had  not  known  it  in  the 
first  instance,  and  that  would  be  to  lose  face. 

But  one  of  the  foreigners  had  grasped  that 
already,  and  he  insisted  on  the  necessary  inquiries 
being  made,  and  presently  we  had  gone  back  on 
our  tracks  and  were  at  the  monastery,  being  received 
by  the  abbot  who  had  charge  of  it,  and  a  tall 
Chinese,  who  spoke  German,  and  was  deeply  inter- 
ested in  the  Orphanage. 

It  was  the  great  day  of  the  year,  for  they  were 
having  their  annual  sports.  Over  the  entrance 
gateway  was  a  magnificent  decoration  to  mark  the 
event.  The  place  was  built  Chinese  fashion,  with 
many  courtyards  and  low-roofed  houses  round  them, 
and  we  were  led  from  one  courtyard  to  another  until 
at  last  we  arrived  at  a  large  courtyard,  or  rather 
playground.  Here  were  the  monks  and  their 
charges,  and  a  certain  number  of  spectators  who 
had  been  invited  to  see  the  show,  all  men,  for  men 
and  women  do  not  mingle  in  China,  and  the  next 
day  the  entertainment  would  be  repeated  with 
women  only  as  spectators.  I  received  a  warm 


Q    u 

If 


TWO   CHARITIES  147 

invitation  to  come  again,  but  I  felt  that  once  would 
be  enough.  We  sat  down  on  a  bench  with  a  table  in 
front  of  us,  a  boy  was  told  off  to  keep  us  supplied 
with  tea,  and  I  had  leisure  to  look  around  me  and 
see  what  manner  of  people  were  these  among  whom 
I  had  come. 

There  are  thirty  monks  here,  and  they  have 
charge  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  orphans  whom  they 
teach  to  read  and  write,  and  all  the  useful  trades, 
give  them,  in  fac^  a  good  start  in  the  world,  and 
the  best  of  chances  to  earn  their  own  living.  The 
bright  sunshine  was  everywhere,  the  walls  in  a 
measure  shut  out  the  wind  and  the  dust,  and  the 
sports  were  in  full  swing.  At  the  upper  end  of 
the  ground,  in  a  room  overlooking  the  play,  sat  the 
abbot  and  some  of  his  subordinates.  They  wore 
loose  gowns  of  some  dark  material  girt  in  at  the 
waist,  their  only  ornament,  if  ornament  it  could  be 
called,  was  a  rosary,  and  head  and  face  were  abso- 
lutely bare  of  hair.  The  abbot  from  a  neighbouring 
monastery  was  introduced  to  me  too,  a  man  with  a 
pleasant,  thoughtful,  cultured  face  and  the  most 
beautiful  milk-white  teeth.  I  was  sorry  I  could  not 
speak  to  that  man.  I  felt  somehow  as  if  we  might 
have  met  on  a  plane  where  nationalities  and  race 
count  for  little ;  but  that  would  have  been  due  to 
his  culture  and  broadmindedness,  not  to  mine. 

Then  there  were  the  orphans.  They  were  fat, 
well-fed  looking  little  chaps  dressed  in  unbleached 
calico  trousers,  and  coats  of  the  very  brightest  blue 
I  have  ever  seen.  Each  wore  on  his  breast,  as  a 
mark  of  the  festive  occasion,  a  bright  pink  carnation, 
and  every  head  was  shaven  as  bare  as  a  billiard  ball. 
They  looked  happy  and  well,  but  to  my  Western 


148  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

eyes  that  last  sanitary  precaution,  as  I  suppose  it 
was,  spoiled  any  claim  they  had  to  good  looks. 
They  ran  races,  they  jumped  about  in  sacks,  they 
picked  up  hoops,  they  stood  in  clusters  of  six  and 
sang  in  shrill  young  voices,  weird  and  haunting 
songs  that  I  was  told  were  patriotic  and  full  of  hope 
for  China.  The  three  first  in  the  races  had  their 
names  proclaimed  in  black  characters  on  white  flags 
that  were  carried  round  the  grounds,  and  there  and 
then  received  their  prizes,  a  handkerchief  or  some 
such  trifle. 

It  was  interesting  not  so  much  for  the  sports 
themselves,  those  may  be  better  seen  in  any  well- 
regulated  boys'  school,  but  because  this  is  the  first 
time  such  efforts  have  been  made  in  China,  and 
made  by  the  Chinese  themselves.  That  a  man 
should  take  any  violent  exercise,  unless  he  were 
absolutely  obliged,  that  he  should  have  any  ideal 
beyond  looking  fat,  and  sleek,  and  well-fed,  is 
entirely  contrary  to  all  received  Chinese  ideas,  and 
must  mark  a  great  step  in  their  advancement. 

And  then  they  brought  me  the  youngest  orphan, 
a  wee,  fat  boy  of  eight,  and  though  he  looked  well, 
he  seemed  much  younger.  Probably  he  was.  As 
I  understand  it,  the  Chinese  counts  himself  a  year 
old  in  the  year  he  is  born,  and  the  first  New  Year's 
day  adds  another  year  to  his  life,  so  that  the  child 
born  on  the  last  day  of  the  old  year,  would  on  New 
Year's  Day,  be  two  years  old!  There  is  something 
very  lovable  about  a  small  child,  and  there  was 
about  this  little  smiling  chap,  though  he  was  unbe- 
comingly dressed  in  coat  and  trousers  of  unbleached 
calico,  and  his  head  was  shaven  bare.  He  held  out 
his  hand  to  me  when  he  was  told,  bowed  low  when 


TWO   CHARITIES  149 

I  gave  him  a  little  piece,  a  very  little  piece,  of  money, 
and  then  trotted  across  the  grounds  to  where  a 
young  monk  was  looking  on  at  the  show.  He 
caught  hold  of  the  monk's  robe,  and  nestled  against 
him,  and  the  man  put  down  a  tender  hand  and 
caressed  him.  No  child  of  his  own,  by  his  vows, 
would  he  ever  have,  but  he  was  a  tender  father  to 
this  little  lonely  waif.  A  waif?  He  was  well-fed, 
he  was  suitably  clad,  and  here  I  saw  with  my  own 
eyes  he  had  tenderness,  could  any  child  have  had 
more?  Could  men  do  more?  And  again  I  say,  as 
I  said  when  I  looked  at  the  Mission  to  the  Blind,  I 
think  not.  Very  surely  I  think  not.  At  least  one 
of  these  monks  was  giving  what  no  Westerner  could 
possibly  give  to  a  child  of  an  alien  race,  that 
tenderness  that  softens  and  smooths  life.  "They 
brought  young  children  to  Him,  that  He  should 
touch  them  .  .  .  and  He  took  them  up  in  His  arms, 
put  His  hands  upon  them,  and  blessed  them." 

These  monks  profess  a  faith  that  was  old  when 
Christianity  was  born,  but  they  are  carrying  out  as 
faithfully  as  ever  did  any  follower  of  Christ  His 
behests.  What  matter  the  creed?  What  matter 
by  what  name  we  call  it?  Away  in  this  old  Eastern 
city  here,  they  are  preaching,  in  deeds,  the  gospel 
of  love  and  kindness,  and  no  man  can  do  more. 

We  are  apt  to  think  that  charity  and  pity  are 
attributes  of  the  Christian  faith  only  but  that  is  to 
insult  the  many  good  and  holy  men  of  other  faiths. 
I  am  not  scorning  the  kindness  and  self-sacrifice  of 
the  Christian  missionary,  but  it  is  better,  where  it 
is  possible,  that  charity  and  pity  for  the  Chinese 
should  come  from  those  of  their  own  race.  For, 
however  tender  and  kind  an  alien  may  be,  he  still 


150  A  WOMAN  IN   CHINA 

stands  outside,  and  the  recipient  to  a  certain  extent 
is  necessarily  alone.  Therefore  am  I  doubly  grate- 
ful to  Mr  Johnston  for  taking  me  to  this  Orphanage, 
where  I  could  see  how  good  the  Chinese  could  be 
to  the  waifs  and  strays  of  their  own  people. 

Pity  and  mercy  belong  not  to  the  Western  nations 
alone.  They  come  from  the  Most  High,  and  are 
common  to  all  His  people,  Christian  missionary 
selling  Bibles,  and  pitying  the  blind  upon  the 
Beggars'  Bridge,  or  Buddhist  monk  taking  to  his 
heart  the  little  forsaken  child  in  the  monastery  of  an 
older  faith  in  the  Chinese  City.  For  such  love  as 
that  we  find  in  the  world  we,  who  look  on,  can  only 
bow  our  heads  and  give  thanks. 


CHAPTER    IX 

A     CHINESE     INN 

The  start  for  Jehol— Tuatk — A  Peking  cart— Chinese  roads — A 
great  highway — Chances  of  camping  out — "  Room  for  ten 
thousand  merchant  guests  "—Human  occupancy — Dust  of 
ages — Eyes  at  the  window — Catering  for  the  journey — The 
Chinese  chicken,  minced. 

THERE  were  two  places  that  I  particularly  wanted 
to  go  to  when  I  could  make  up  my  mind  to  tear 
myself  away  from  the  charms  of  Peking.  One  was 
the  Tungling,  or  Eastern  Tombs,  the  tombs  where 
the  great  Empress-Dowager  and  most  of  the 
Manchu  Emperors  were  buried,  and  Jehol,  the 
Hunting  Palace  of  the  Manchus,  away  to  the  north 
in  Inner  Mongolia,  or  on  the  outermost  edge  of  the 
Province  of  Chihli,  for  boundaries  are  vague  things 
in  that  out-of-the-way  part  of  the  world.  I  won- 
dered if  I  could  combine  them  both,  if  instead  of 
coming  back  to  Peking  after  visiting  the  tombs  I 
might  make  my  way  over  the  mountains  to  Jehol. 
With  that  end  in  view  I  instituted  inquiries,  only  to 
find  that  while  many  people  knew  a  man,  or  had 
heard  of  several  men  who  had  been,  I  never  struck 
the  knowledgeable  man  himself.  The  only  thing 
was  to  start  out  on  my  own  account,  and  I  knew 
then  I  should  soon  arrive  at  the  difficulties  to  be 
overcome,  not  the  least  of  them  was  two  hundred 


152  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

and  eighty  miles  in  a  Peking  cart.  The  only  draw- 
back to  that  arrangement  was  that  if  I  didn't  like 
the  difficulties  when  I  did  meet  them,  there  could 
be  no  drawing  back.  They  would  have  to  be 
faced. 

Accordingly  I  engaged  a  servant  with  a  rudi- 
mentary knowledge  of  English.  When  the  matter 
we  spoke  of  was  of  no  importance,  such  as  my 
dinner,  I  could  generally  understand  him,  when  it 
was  of  importance,  such  as  the  difficulties  of  the 
way,  I  could  not,  but  I  guessed,  or  the  events  them- 
selves as  they  unfolded  became  explanatory.  This 
gentleman  was  a  small  person  with  noble  views  on 
the  subject  of  squeeze,  as  it  pertained  to  Missie's 
servant,  and  he  wore  on  state  occasions  a  long  black 
coat  of  brocaded  silk,  slit  at  the  sides,  and  on  all 
occasions  the  short  hairs  that  fringed  the  shaven 
front  of  his  head  stood  up  like  a  black  horsehair 
halo.  He  was  badly  pock-marked,  very  cheerful, 
and  an  excellent  servant,  engineering  me  over  diffi- 
culties so  well  that  I  had  to  forgive  him  the  squeeze, 
though  in  small  matters  I  was  occasionally  made 
aware  I  was  paying  not  double  the  price,  but  seven 
times  what  it  ought  to  have  been.  However  one 
buys  one's  experience.  He  was  my  first  servant 
and  I  paid  him  thirty  dollars  a  month,  so  I  was 
squeezed  on  that  basis.  A  six  months'  stay  in 
China  convinced  me  I  could  get  as  good  a  servant 
for  fifteen  dollars  a  month,  and  feel  he  was  well 
paid. 

His  name  was  Tuan,  pronounced  as  if  it  began 
with  a  "  D,"  and  he  engaged  for  me  two  Peking  carts 
with  a  driver  each,  and  two  mules  apiece.  One  was 
for  myself  and  some  of  my  luggage,  the  other  took 


A   CHINESE   INN  158 

my  servant,  my  humble  kitchen  utensils,  and  the 
rest  of  my  baggage;  and  one  Sunday  morning 
in  May,  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  it  was  sunny, 
because  a  dull  morning  in  May  in  Northern  China 
is  an  exception  hailed  with  joy,  the  carts  appeared 
at  the  door  of  the  "  Wagons  Lits,"  and  we  were 
ready  to  start.  At  least  everything  was  ready  but 
me.  I  ached  in  every  limb,  and  felt  sure  that  I  was 
just  beginning  an  attack  of  influenza.  What  was 
to  be  done?  I  longed  with  a  great  longing  for  my 
peaceful  bed.  I  did  not  want  to  go  venturing  forth 
into  the,  to  me,  unknown  wilds  of  China,  but  I  had 
engaged  those  carts  at  the  rate  of  seven  dollars  a 
day  for  the  two,  and  I  felt  that  I  really  could  not 
afford  to  linger.  Possibly  the  fresh  air  might  do 
me  good.  At  any  rate,  I  reflected  thankfully,  as  I 
climbed  into  the  foremost  cart,  no  active  exertion 
was  required  of  me.  And  that  only  shows  how 
remarkably  little  I  knew  about  a  Peking  cart.  A 
man  and  a  girl  of  my  acquaintance  rose  up  early  in 
the  morning  to  accompany  me  the  first  ten  miles  on 
donkeys,  we  had  tiffin  together  beneath  the  shade 
of  some  pine-trees  in  a  graveyard,  and  then  they 
wished  me  good-bye,  and  I  started  off  with  the 
comfortable  feeling  that  arises  from  the  parting 
good  wishes  of  kind  friends. 

Now  a  Peking  cart  is  a  very  venerable  mode  of 
progression.  When  our  ancestors  were  lightly- 
dressed  in  woad,  and  had  no  conception  of  any 
wheeled  vehicle,  the  Chinese  lady  was  paying  her 
calls  sitting  in  the  back  of  a  Peking  cart,  the  seat  of 
honour  under  the  tilt,  well  out  of  the  sight  of  the 
passers-by,  while  her  servant  sat  in  front,  the  place 
of  comfort,  if  such  a  word  can  be  applied  to  anything 


154  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

pertaining  to  a  Peking  cart,  for  in  spite  of  its  long 
and  aristocratic  record  if  there  is  any  mode  of  pro- 
gression more  wearying  and  uncomfortable  I  have 
not  met  it.  It  is  simply  a  springless  board  set  on 
a  couple  of  wheels  with  a  wagon  tilt  of  blue  cotton, 
if  you  are  not  imperial,  over  it,  and  a  place  for  heavy 
luggage  behind.  The  Chinaman  sits  on  the  floor 
and  does  not  seem  to  mind,  but  the  ordinary 
Westerner,  such  as  I  am,  packs  his  bedding  and  all 
the  cushions  he  can  raise  around  him,  and  then 
resigns  himself  to  his  fate.  It  has  one  advantage 
people  will  tell  you,  it  has  nothing  to  break  in  it, 
but  there  are  moments  when  it  would  be  a  mighty 
relief  if  something  did  break,  for  if  the  woodwork 
holds  together,  as  it  tosses  you  from  side  to  side, 
you  yourself  are  one  sore,  bruised  mass.  No,  I 
cannot  recommend  a  Peking  cart,  even  on  the 
smoothest  road. 

And  the  roads  in  China  are  not  smooth.  We  all 
know  the  description  of  the  snakes  in  Ireland, 
"  There  are  no  snakes,"  and  if  in  the  same  manner 
could  be  described  the  roads  in  China,  blessed 
would  the  roads  in  China  be,  but  as  China  is  a 
densely  populated  country  there  are  so-called  roads, 
upon  which  the  people  move  about,  but  I  have 
seldom  met  one  that  was  any  better  than  the  sur- 
rounding country,  and  very,  very  often  on  this 
journey  did  I  meet  roads  where  it  was  ease  and 
luxury  to  move  off  them  on  to  the  neighbouring 
ploughed  field.  The  receipt  for  a  road  there  in  the 
north  seems  to  be :  Take  a  piece  of  the  country  that 
is  really  too  bad  to  plough  or  to  use  for  any  agricul- 
tural purposes  whatever,  that  a  mountain  torrent, 
in  fact,  has  given  up  as  too  much  for  the  water, 


1 1 


LEAVING  THE  WAGONS   LITS   FOR  THE  MOUNTAINS. 


A   STREET  STALL. 


A    CHINESE    INN  155 

upset  a  stone  wall  over  it,  a  stone  wall  with  good 
large  stones  in  it,  take  care  they  never  for  a  moment 
lie  evenly,  and  you  have  your  road. 

Leaving  Peking  for  the  Eastern  Tombs  you  go 
for  the  first  two  or  three  hours  along  a  paved  way 
of  magnificent  proportions,  planned  and  laid  out  as 
a  great  highway  should  be.  The  great  stones 
with  which  it  is  paved  were  probably  put  there 
by  slave  labour,  how  many  hundred  years  ago  I  do 
not  know,  but  the  blocks  are  uneven  now,  some 
of  them  are  gone  altogether,  though  how  a  huge 
block  of  stone  could  possibly  disappear  passes  my 
understanding,  and  whenever  the  carter  could,  he 
took  tHe  cart  down  beside  the  road,  where  at  least 
the  dust  made  a  cushion  for  the  nail-studded  wheels, 
and  the  jarring  and  the  jolting  were  not  quite  so 
terrible. 

It  takes  as  long  to  get  beyond  the  environs  of 
Peking  in  a  cart  as  it  does  to  get  out  of  London  in 
a  motor-car.  First  we  passed  through  the  Baby- 
lonish gate,  and  the  great  walls  were  behind  us, 
then,  outside  the  city,  all  looking  dusty,  dirty, 
and  khaki-coloured  in  the  brilliant  sunshine,  were 
numerous  small  houses,  and  the  wayside  was  lined 
with  booths  on  which  were  things  for  sale,  green 
vegetables  and  salads  looking  inviting,  if  I  could 
have  forgotten  the  danger  of  enteric,  unappetising- 
looking  meat,  bones,  the  backbones  of  sheep  from 
which  all  flesh  had  been  taken,  eggs,  piles  of  cakes 
and  small  pies,  shoes,  clothes,  samovars,  everything 
a  poor  man  in  a  primitive  community  can  possibly 
require,  and  along  the  roadway  came  an  endless 
array  of  people,  clad  for  the  most  part  in  blue 
cotton,  men  walking,  men  with  loads  slung  from  a 


156  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

bamboo  across  their  shoulders,  donkeys  laden  with 
baskets,  with  sacks  of  grain,  with  fat  Chinese  on 
their  backs,  with  small-footed  women  being  trans- 
ported from  one  place  to  another;  there  were  Peking 
carts,  there  were  mules,  there  were  ponies ;  and  this 
busy  throng  is  almost  the  same  as  it  was  a  couple 
of  thousand  years  ago.  I  wondered ;  could  I  have 
taken  a  peep  at  the  outskirts  of  London  in  the  days 
of  Elizabeth  of  happy  memory,  would  it  not  have 
been  like  this?  But  no.  The  sky  here  is  bright 
and  clear,  the  sunshine  hot,  and  the  faces  of  the 
moving  crowd  are  yellow  and  oriental.  This 
crowd  is  like  the  men  who  toiled  round  the  quarries 
of  Babylon  or  Nineveh,  and  it  is  perhaps  more 
satisfied  with  itself  and  its  position  in  the  universe 
than  any  like  company  of  people  anywhere  in  the 
world.  That  impression  was  forced  upon  me  as  I 
sfayed  in  Peking,  it  grew  and  grew  as  I  got  farther 
away  from  the  great  city,  and  out  into  the  country. 
But  it  was  a  long,  long  while  before  I  could  feel 
I  was  really  in  the  country.  There  was  the  khaki- 
coloured  land,  there  were  the  khaki-coloured  houses 
built  of  mu3  apparently,  with  graceful,  tiled  roofs, 
and  blue-clad  people  everywhere,  and  everywhere 
at  work.  Always  the  fields  were  most  beautifully 
tilled,  there  were  no  fences,  the  Chinese  is  too 
civilised  to  need  a  fence,  and  when  you  see  stone 
walls  it  is  only  because,  since  they  can't  be  dropped 
off  the  planet  into  space,  the  stones  must  be  dis- 
posed of  somehow,  here  and  there  the  kaoliang  was 
coming  up  like  young  wheat,  in  vivid  green  patches 
that  were  a  relief  from  the  general  dust,  and  occa- 
sionally there  were  trees,  willow  or  poplar  or  fir, 
delightful  to  look  upon,  that  marked  a  graveyard, 


A   CHINESE    INN  157 

and  then,  just  as  I  was  beginning  to  hope  I  was  out 
in  the  country,  a  walled  town  would  loom  up. 

And  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening  we  stopped  and 
met  for  the  first  time  the  discomforts  of  a  Chinese 
inn. 

We  had  started  rather  late,  and  I  had  spent  so 
much  time  bidding  farewell  to  my  friends,  that  we 
did  not  reach  the  town  we  had  intended  to,  but  put 
up  at  a  smalt  inn  in  a  small  hamlet.  This,  my  first 
inn  was,  like  most  Chinese  inns,  a  line  of  one-storied 
buildings,  built  round  the  four  sides  of  a  large 
courtyard.  Mixed  up  with  the  rooms  were  the 
stalls  for  the  beasts,  the  mules  and  the  little  grey 
donkeys,  with  an  occasional  pony  or  two,  and  the 
courtyard  was  dotted  with  stone  or  wooden  mangers. 
In  the  pleasant  May  weather  there  was  no  need  to 
put  all  the  beasts  under  cover,  and  there  were  so 
many  travellers  there  was  not  room  in  the  stalls  for 
all  the  beasts. 

It  was  all  wonderfully  Eastern.  I  remembered, 
I  could  not  but  remember,  how  once  there  arrived 
at  such  an  inn  a  little  company,  weary  and  tired, 
and  "  so  it  was,  that  while  they  were  there,  the  days 
were  accomplished  that  she  should  be  delivered. 
And  she  brought  forth  her  first-born  son,  and 
wrapped  him  in  swaddling  clothes  and  laid  him  in  a 
manger:  because  there  was  no  room  for  them  in 
the  inn." 

I  thought  of  that  little  company  as  the  Peking 
cart  jolted  over  the  step  that  is  on  the  threshold  of 
all  Chinese  doors — no  one  considers  comfort  in 
China,  what  is  a  jolt  more  or  less,  a  Peking  cart  will 
not  break — and  I  found  myself  in  the  courtyard^, 
and  a  trestle  was  brought  for  me  to  get  down  from 


158  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

the  cart.  I  might  have  jumped,  I  suppose,  but 
one  hundred  li,  about  thirty  miles,  had  left  me  stiff 
and  aching  in  every  limb.  My  head  ached  too  with 
the  influenza,  and  when  I  inspected  the  room 
offered  for  my  accommodation,  I  only  wished 
drearily  that  there  had  been  no  room  in  this  par- 
ticular inn,  and  that  I  might  have  slept  out  in  the 
open. 

But  that  first  day  as  I  went  across  the  plain,  that 
while  there  were  no  hills  upon  it  rose  slowly  towards 
the  hills,  I  realised  that  in  China,  there  is  not  the 
charm  of  the  open  road,  you  may  not  sleep  under 
the  sky,  you  must  put  up  at  an  inn,  you  would  as 
soon  think  of  camping  out  in  one  of  the  suburbs 
of  London.  Indeed  you  might  easily  find  more 
suitable  places  for  camping  about  Surbiton  or 
Richmond  than  you  would  among  the  sterile  hills 
or  cultivated  valley  bottoms  of  Northern  China.  I 
hoped  against  hope  for  three  days.  I  had  a  com- 
fortable sleeping-bag  and  the  nights  were  fine,  it 
seemed  it  would  be  so  simple  a  thing  to  camp  a  little 
off  the  roadside,  even  though  I  had  no  tent,  and  that 
first  night,  when  I  smelled  the  smell  of  the  rooms, 
rank  and  abominable,  and  reeking  of  human  occu- 
pancy, I  envied  my  mules,  and  said  that  as  I  got 
farther  into  the  country  I  could  certainly  sleep 
outside. 

"  Room  for  ten  thousand  merchant  guests,"  said 
the  innkeeper  in  characters  of  black  on  red  paper 
over  his  door,  and  unless  those  merchants  were 
very  small  indeed,  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  where 
he  proposed  to  put  them.  I  remembered  with  a 
shudder,  that  one  man  of  my  acquaintance  had  said : 
"What  I  cannot  stand  is  the  perpetual  tramp, 


A    CHINESE    INN  159 

tramp,  all  night,"  and  I  had  my  suspicions  that  the 
guests  were  small  on  this  occasion,  and  I  feared 
lest  they  were  going  to  be  catered  for.  There  were 
also  notices  in  the  effective  red  and  black  that  the 
landlord  would  not  be  responsible  for  any  valuables 
not  confided  to  his  care,  and  exhorting  the  guests 
to  be  careful  of  fire.  And  it  seemed  to  me,  as 
I  looked  at  the  rotting  thatch  and  the  dubious 
grey  walls,  that  a  fire  in  this  inn  would  be  the  very 
best  thing  that  could  happen  to  it.  You  see  I  was 
specially  particular  this  first  night.  I  thought  the 
next  inn  might  be  better.  I  had  a  good  deal  to 
learn.  "  The  tiger  from  the  Eastern  Hills  and  the 
tiger  from  the  Western  Hills,"  says  the  Chinese 
proverb,  "  are  both  the  same."  So  everywhere  a 
Chinese  inn  is  about  as  bad  as  it  can  be.  They  are 
mostly  used  by  carters,  and  well-to-do  people  always 
go  to  temples,  when  they  are  available.  There 
wasn't  a  temple  about  here,  and  I  didn't  know  I 
could  have  lodged  there  had  there  been  one,  so  I 
resigned  myself  to  the  inevitable,  and  wondered 
with  all  the  energy  that  was  left  in  me  what  adverse 
fate  had  set  me  down  here.  I  might  have  gone 
back,  of  course.  In  a  way  I  was  my  own  mistress ; 
but  after  all,  we  none  of  us  own  ourselves  in  this 
world.  I  had  a  book  to  write,  and  material  for  that 
book  was  not  to  be  got  by  staying  comfortably  in 
the  Wagons  Lits  Hotel,  and  therefore  I  very  reluct- 
antly peeped  into  a  room  from  which  clouds  of  dust 
were  issuing,  and  which  smelt  worse  than  any  place 
I  had  ever  before  thought  of  using  as  a  bed-chamber 
and  dining-room  combined.  The  dust  was  because 
I  had  impressed  upon  the  valued  Tuan  that  I  must 
have  a  clean  room,  so  he  had  importantly  turned 


160  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

two  coolies  on  to  stir  up  the  dust  of  ages,  a 
thousand  years  at  least,  I  should  say,  there  seemed 
no  end  to  it,  and  I  wondered,  in  addition  to  the 
merchant  guests,  what  awful  microbes  were  being 
wakened  out  of  their  long  sleep.  Left  alone,  they 
might  have  been  buried  so  deep  that  they  might  not 
have  come  high  me ;  but  he  was  giving  them  all  a 
chance.  After  all  it  was  only  fair,  a  foreign  woman 
did  not  visit  a  Chinese  inn  every  day  of  the  week. 
After  more  dust  than  I  had  ever  seen  before  all  at 
once,  had  come  out  of  that  room,  I  instructed  water 
to  be  brought  and  poured  on  things  in  general,  and, 
when  the  turmoil  had  quieted  down  a  little,  I  went 
in  and  inspected  my  quarters. 

They  all  bear  a  strong  family  resemblance  to  one 
another,  the  rooms  of  these  Chinese  inns.  I  always 
tried  to  get  one  that  opened  directly  on  to  the  court- 
yard, as  giving  more  chance  of  air.  The  Chinese,  as 
a  rule,  have  not  much  use  for  fresh  air.  Tuan,  had 
he  had  his  way,  would  have  shut  the  door  fast,  as 
being  more  correct  and  private,  and  then  I  should 
have  been  in  an  hermetically  sealed  room,  lighted  all 
along  the  courtyard  side  by  a  most  dainty  lattice- 
work window  covered  with  white  tissue  paper,  or 
rather  tissue  paper  that  had  once  been  white.  It 
had  been  well-smoked  during  the  winter,  and  a 
considerable  quantity  of  the  dust  that  had  been  so 
industriously  stirred  up,  had  lodged  there.  But  air 
I  must  have,  so  I  had  the  paper  stripped  off  from 
the  top  of  the  window  as  far  down  as  my  desire 
for  privacy  would  allow.  Below,  the  more  daring 
spirits,  who  had  assembled  to  see  the  foreign 
woman,  wetted  their  fingers  and  poked  them  softly 
through  the  bottom  part  of  the  window;  and  then 


A    CHINESE   INN  161 

an  eye  appeared,  so  that  it  really  seemed  at  first  as 
if  I  might  as  well  have  been  comfortable  and  had  all 
the  paper  off.  I  went  outside,  and  let  it  plainly 
be  seen  that  I  was  very  angry  indeed,  and  then 
Tuan,  who  had  a  great  idea  of  my  dignity,  or  rather 
of  his  dignity,  which  was  as  nothing  if  I  was  of  no 
consequence,  put  one  of  the  "  cartee  men  "  on  guard, 
and  once  more  I  retired  to  my  uncomfortable 
lodging.  It  had  a  stone  floor,  being  quite  a  superior 
sort  of  inn,  the  poorer  sort  have  only  beaten  earth, 
there  were  two  wooden  chairs  of  dark  wood,  high, 
with  narrow  and  uncomfortable  seats,  a  table,  also 
uncomfortably  high,  and  of  course,  the  k'ang. 
Most  people  know  all  about  the  k'ang  now,  but  this 
was  my  first  introduction  to  it  as  a  working  piece  of 
furniture.  It  is  a  platform  of  stone  about  two  feet 
high,  so  constructed  that  a  small  fire  lighted  under- 
neath, and  a  very  small  fire  it  is,  carries  the  warmth, 
by  a  system  of  flues,  all  over  it.  It  is  covered 
generally  with  matting,  and  on  it  is  always  a  k'ang 
table,  a  little  table  about  eighteen  inches  square  and 
a  foot  higfT,  and,  though  this  is  not  intentional, 
covered  with  the  grease  of  many  meals. 

I  looked  doubtfully  at  the  k'ang  this  first  day.  It 
seemed  to  me  I  could  not  lodge  in  such  a  place,  and 
I  wished  heartily  that  I  had  left  the  describing  of 
China  to  some  more  hardened  traveller.  There 
was  a  grass  mat  upon  it,  hiding  its  stoniness,  and  I 
had  powdered  borax  sprinkled  over  it,  about  half  a 
tin  of  Keating's  followed,  though  I  am  told  the 
insects  in  China  rather  like  Keating's,  and  only  then 
did  I  venture  to  have  my  bed  set  up.  Alongside 
was  placed  my  india-rubber  bath,  the  gift  of  a  friend, 
and  every  night  of  that  journey  did  I  thank  her  with 

L 


162  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

all  my  heart,  it  was  so  much  nicer  than  my  old 
canvas  bath,  and  making  sure  that  the  "  cartee  man  " 
was  still  on  guard  I  proceeded  to  wash  and  undress 
and  creep  into  my  sleeping-bag. 

At  only  one  Chinese  inn  where  I  stayed  could 
food  for  the  traveller  be  had,  and  that  was,  I  think, 
only  because  it  combined  the  functions  of  inn- 
keeping  and  restaurant.  In  any  case,  of  course, 
the  foreign  traveller  would  not  think  of  eating 
Chinese  food,  and  I,  like  everyone  else,  provided 
my  own.  I  brought  with  me  rice,  tea,  and  flour. 
Tuan  cooked  for  me  on  an  absurd  little  charcoal 
stove  upon  which  I  might  have  succeeded  in  boiling 
an  egg.  With  the  exception  of  those  few  stores,  I 
lived  off  the  country,  buying  chickens  and  eggs, 
onions,  and  hard  little  pears ;  Tuan  doing  the 
buying,  charging  me  at  a  rate  that  made  me  wonder 
how  on  earth  the  "  Wagons  Lits  "  managed  to  board 
and  lodge  its  guests  at  £i  a  day.  I  used  to  think 
that,  for  sheer  toughness,  the  palm  might  be  given 
to  the  West  African  chicken,  but  I  withdraw  that 
statement,  he  isn't  in  it  alongside  the  Chinese. 
We  used  to  buy  small  birds  about  the  size  of  a 
pigeon,  But  an  elderly  ostrich  couldn't  have  been 
tougher.  My  teeth,  thank  Heaven,  are  excellent, 
but  the  Chinese  chicken  was  too  much  for  them.  I 
then  saw  why  Tuan  had  provided  a  chopper  for 
kitchen  use,  he  called  it  "  cookee  knife,"  and  the 
fiat  went  forth — I  would  have  no  more  chicken 
unless  it  was  minced. 

But  that  first  night  I  couldn't  look  at  chicken,  I 
couldn't  even  laugh  at  the  woodeny  pears  and  rice 
which  were  the  next  course.  I  declined  everything, 
lay  in  bed  and  drank  tea,  the  wind  came  in  through 


INN  YARD,  PEKING  CART  IN  FOREGROUND. 


GOSSIPING. 


A    CHINESE   INN  163 

the  open  lattice-work,  guttered  my  candle  and  then 
blew  it  out,  and  I,  first  hot,  and  then  cold,  and 
always  miserable,  stared  at  the  luminous  night  sky, 
cut  into  squares  by  the  lattice-work  of  the  window, 
was  conscious  of  every  bone  in  my  body,  and 
wondered  if  I  were  not  going  to  be  very  ill  indeed. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE  TUNGLING 

A  Peking  cart  as  a  cure  for  influenza — Difficulties  of  a  narrow 
road — The  dead  have  right  of  way — The  unlucky  women — 
Foot  binding — **  Beat  you,  beat  you  " — Lost  luggage — 
"  You  must  send  your  husband " — Letter- writing  under 
difficulties — A  masterless  woman — Malanyu — Most  perfect 
place  of  tombs  in  the  world. 

BUT  I  wasn't.  As  a  rule  I  find  I  worry  myself 
unnecessarily  in  life.  Either  a  thing  can  be  altered, 
or  it  can't.  If  it  can't  there's  an  end  to  the  matter, 
worrying  doesn't  mend  it.  I  had  come  here  of  my 
own  free  will — it  wasn't  nice,  but  there  was  nothing 
to  do  but  make  the  best  of  it.  In  the  morning  if  I 
wasn't  very  happy  I  was  no  worse,  and  to  go  back 
that  weary  journey  to  Peking  would  only  be  to  make 
myself  ridiculous.  Therefore  I  arose  with  the  sun, 
and  a  nice,  bright  cheerful  sun  he  was,  looked  at  my 
breakfast,  drank  the  tea  and  was  ready  to  start.  All 
the  hamlet  watched  me  climb  into  my  cartA  I  felt 
I  couldn't  have  walked  a  step  to  save  my  life,  and  we 
rumbled  over  that  steep  step,  and  were  out  in  the 
roadway  again. 

It  is  not  the  best  way  to  view  a  country  from  a 
Peking  cart,  for  the  tossing  from  side  to  side  is  apt 
to  engender  a  distaste  for  life  and  to  encourage  a 
feeling  that  nothing  would  really  matter  if  only  the 
cart  would  come  to  a  standstill  for  a  moment.  Add 
to  that  the  aching  head  of  influenza  and  that  morn- 

164 


THE    TUNGLING  165 

ing  I  began  to  pity  not  only  myself  but  my  publisher, 
for  I  began  to  fear  he  was  going  to  lose  money  on 
me.  It  was  Byron,  I  think,  who  considered  that 
Providence  or  somebody  else  who  shall  be  nameless 
always  took  care  of  publishers,  and  that  is  the  reason 
perhaps  why  I  have  come  to  the  opinion  that  a  trip  in 
a  Peking  cart  is  really  the  best  cure  for  influenza. 
Had  I  gone  to  bed  and  had  someone  kind  and  nice 
to  wait  upon  me  and  bring  me  the  milk  and  soda 
and  offer  the  sympathy  my  soul  desired,  I  should 
probably  have  taken  a  fortnight  to  get  well;  as  it 
was,  out  in  the  open  air  from  dawn  to  dark,  three 
days  saw  the  end  of  my  woes,  and  even  at  the  worst 
I  was  able  to  sit  up  and  take  a  certain  amount  of 
interest  in  passing  events. 

Gradually,  gradually,  as  we  went  on  we  seemed  to 
forget  the  great  city  that  absorbed  all  things,  and 
the  surroundings  became  more  truly  countrified. 
The  road,  when  it  was  not  stones,  was  deep  sand 
with  deep,  deep  ruts  worn  by  the  passing  of  many 
carts,  and  it  stretched  over  just  as  great  a  portion  of 
the  country  as  the  people  would  allow.  Flat  it  was, 
flat,  and  all  along  the  way  were  little  villages  and 
hamlets.  There  was  no  temptation  to  walk,  for  it 
was  very  rough  indeed,  just  the  worn  road  and  the 
edge  of  the  tilled  fields,  tilled  as  surely  never  before 
in  the  world  were  fields  tilled,  and  they  stretched 
away  to  the  far  distant  blue  hills.  Occasionally  the 
road  sank  deep  between  them,  and  as  it  was  very 
narrow  the  traffic  question  was  sometimes  trouble- 
some. On  this  day  we  met  a  country  cart,  a  longer 
cart  than  the  Peking  cart,  covered  in  with  matting 
and  drawn  by  a  mule  and  a  couple  of  donkeys. 
Manifestly  there  was  not  room  for  the  carts  to  pass 


166  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

and  I  wondered  what  would  happen  for,  for  either  of 
us,  laden  as  we  were,  to  go  backwards  would  have 
been  difficult.  I  was  requested  to  get  out,  which  I 
did  reluctantly,  my  carts  were  drawn  so  close  against 
the  bank  that  the  right  wheels  were  raised  against 
it,  and  then  they  tried  to  get  the  other  cart  past. 
No  good,  it  would  not  go.  About  a  dozen  men  all 
in  dirty,  very  dirty  blue,  with  pointed  hats  of  grass 
matting,  looking  as  if  they  had  stepped  off  old- 
fashioned  tea  caddies,  came  and  took  an  intelligent 
interest,  even  as  they  might  have  done  in  Stafford- 
shire, but  that  didn't  make  the  carts  any  smaller,  and 
then  they  decided  to  drive  the  country  cart  up  the 
bank  into  the  field  above.  They  tried  and  tried, 
they  lashed  that  unfortunate  mule  and  the  donkeys, 
but  with  all  their  pulling  it  was  too  heavy,  up  the 
bank  it  would  not  go.  Chinese  patience  was  exem- 
plified. But  it  was  the  mule  and  the  donkeys  that 
really  displayed  the  patience.  I  climbed  the  bank, 
sat  on  a  stone  and  watched  them,  and  did  not  like  to 
give  my  valuable  advice,  because  these  men  must 
have  been  driving  carts  along  these  roads  all  their 
lives,  and  presumably  must  know  something  about 
it,  while  never  in  my  life  had  I  handled  a  team  con- 
sisting of  two  donkeys  and  a  mule.  At  last  when 
they  got  an  extra  hard  lashing  and  fell  back,  con- 
quered once  more,  poor  brutes,  by  the  weight,  I 
rose  up  and  interfered.  I  did  not  request — I 
ordered.  They  were  to  take  the  two  foremost  mules 
from  my  carts  and  hitch  them  on  to  the  other  cart. 
My  foremost  mule  protested,  he  evidently  said  he 
had  never  been  associated  with  donkeys  before ;  but 
in  two  minutes  they  had  got  that  cart  to  the  higher 
level,  and  we  were  free  to  go  on  our  way,  Why 


THE    TUNGLING  167 

they  did  not  do  it  without  my  ordering  I  am  sure  I 
do  not  know,  for  as  a  rule  I  had  no  authority  over 
the  carts,  they  went  their  own  way — I  was  merely  a 
passenger. 

Once  more  that  day  the  narrow  way  was  blocked, 
this  time  by  a  funeral.  The  huge  coffin  was  borne 
by  ten  straining  men,  and  there  was  no  parleying 
with  it,  the  dead  have  right  of  way  in  China,  and 
out  of  the  way  we  had  to  get.  We  backed  with  diffi- 
culty till  the  bank  on  one  side  was  a  little  lower,  and 
then  up  we  went  till  we  were  on  the  cultivated  land, 
drove  on  till  we  were  ahead  of  the  corpse,  and  then 
down  again  into  the  roadway  once  more. 

In  China,  as  far  as  I  have  been,  you  never  get 
away  from  the  people,  this  country  was  far  more 
thickly  populated  than  the  country  round  London, 
for  I  have  walked  in  Surrey  lanes  and  found  no  one 
of  whom  to  ask  a  question,  while  here  there  were 
always  people  in  sight.  True,  here  were  no  leafy 
lanes  such  as  we  find  in  Surrey  and  Kent,  but  the 
whole  country  lay  flat  and  outstretched  till  it  seemed 
as  if  nothing  were  hidden  right  up  to  the  base  of 
the  far  away  hills.  The  days  were  getting  hot  and 
the  men  were  working  in  the  fields  stripped  to  the 
waist,  while  most  of  the  little  boys  were  stark  naked, 
pretty  little  lissom  things  they  were,  too,  if  they  had 
only  been  washed ;  and  the  little  girls,  for  all 
clothing,  wore  a  square  blue  pocket-handkerchief  put 
on  corner-wise  in  front,  slung  round  the  neck  and  tied 
round  the  waist  with  a  bit  of  string ;  but  farther  on, 
in  the  mountain  villages,  I  have  seen  the  little  girls 
like  the  little  boys,  stark  naked.  Only  the  women 
are  clothed  to  the  neck,  whatever  the  state  of  the 
thermometer.  Always  there  were  houses  by  the 


168  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

wayside,  and  many  villages  and  hamlets,  and  the 
women  sat  on  the  doorsteps  sewing,  generally  it 
seemed  to  me  at  the  sole  of  a  shoe,  or  two  of  them 
laboured  at  the  little  stone  corn  mills,  that  were  in 
every  village,  grinding  the  corn,  the  millet,  or  the 
maize,  for  household  use.  Sometimes  a  donkey, 
and  a  donkey  can  be  bought  for  a  very  small  sum, 
turned  the  stone,  but  usually  it  seemed  that  it  was 
the  women  of  the  household  who,  on  their  tiny  feet, 
painfully  hobbled  round,  turning  the  heavy  stone 
and  smoothing  out  the  flour  with  their  hands,  so  that 
it  might  be  smoothly  and  evenly  ground. 

Poor  women!  They  have  a  saying  in  China  to 
the  effect  that  a  woman  eats  bitterness,  and  she 
surely  does,  if  the  little  I  have  seen  of  her  life  is 
any  criterion.  As  I  went  through  the  villages,  in 
the  morning  and  evening,  I  could  hear  the  crying 
of  children.  Chinese  children  are  proverbially 
naughty,  no  one  ever  checks  them,  and  I  could  not 
know  why  these  children  were  crying,  some  prob- 
ably from  the  pure  contrariness  of  human  nature, 
but  a  missionary  woman,  and  a  man  who  scorned 
missionaries  and  all  their  works  both  told  me  that, 
morning  and  evening,  the  little  girls  cried  because 
the  bandages  on  their  feet  were  being  drawn  more 
tightly.  Always  it  is  a  gnawing  pain,  and  the  only 
relief  the  little  girl  can  get  is  by  pressing  the  calf  of 
her  leg  tightly  against  the  edge  of  the  k'ang.  The 
pressure  stops  the  flow  of  blood  and  numbs  the  feet 
as  long  as  it  is  kept  up,  but  it  cannot  be  kept  up 
long,  and  with  the  rush  of  blood  comes  the  increase 
of  pain — a  pain  that  the  tightening  of  the  bandages 
deepens. 

"  Beat  you,  beat  you,"  cries  the  mother  taking  a 


THE    TUNGLING  169 

stick  to  the  little  suffering  thing,  "  you  cry  when  I 
bind  your  feet."  For  a  Chinese  woman  must  show 
no  emotion,  above  all  she  must  never  complain. 
This,  of  course,  is  a  characteristic  of  the  nation. 
The  men  will  bear  much  without  complaining. 

I  never  grew  accustomed  to  it.  The  pity  and  the 
horror  of  it  never  failed  to  strike  me,  and  if  the 
missionaries  do  but  one  good  work,  they  do  it  in 
prevailing  on  the  women  to  unbind  their  feet,  in 
preventing  unlucky  little  girls  from  going  through 
years  of  agony. 

There  is  no  mistaking  the  gait  of  a  woman  with 
bound  feet.  She  walks  as  if  her  legs  were  made  of 
wood,  unbending  from  the  hip  downwards  to  tne 
heels.  The  feet  are  tiny,  shaped  like  small  hoofs 
about  four  inches  long,  encased  in  embroidered 
slippers,  and  to  walk  at  all  she  must  hold  out  her 
arms  to  balance  herself.  When  I  was  laughed  at 
for  my  "pathetic  note,"  and  was  told  I  exaggerated 
the  sufferings  of  the  women,  I  took  the  trouble  to 
inquire  of  four  doctors,  three  men  and  one  woman, 
people  who  came  daily  in  contact  with  these  women, 
and  they  were  all  of  one  opinion,  the  sufferings  of 
the  women  were  very  great.  The  binding  in  girl- 
hood was  not  only  terribly  painful  but  even  after 
the  process  was  finished  the  feet  were  often  diseased, 
often  sore  and  ulcerated,  and  at  the  very  best  the 
least  exertion,  as  is  only  natural,  makes  them  ache. 

"  Try,"  said  one  doctor,  "  walking  with  your  toes 
crushed  under  your  sole,  the  arch  of  your  foot 
pressed  up  till  the  whole  foot  is  barely  four  inches 
long,  and  you  can  only  walk  on  your  heel,  and  see 
if  you  do  not  suffer — suffer  in  all  parts  of  your  body. 
They  say,"  he  went  on,  "  that  while  there  are  many 


170  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

peaceful,  kindly  old  men  among  the  Chinese,  every 
woman  is  a  shrew.  And  I  can  well  believe  it. 
What  else  could  you  expect?  Oh  women  have  a 
mighty  thin  time  in  China.  I  don't  believe  there  is 
any  place  in  the  world  where  they  have  a  worse." 

If  anyone  doubts  that  this  custom  presses  heavily 
on  the  women,  let  him  ask  any  doctor  who  has 
practised  much  among  the  Chinese  how  many  legs 
he  has  taken  off  because  the  neglected  sores  of 
ulcerated,  bound  feet  have  become  gangrenous  and 
a  danger  to  life. 

"  It  really  doesn't  matter,"  said  another  doctor  I 
knew  well,  "  a  Chinese  woman  is  just  as  well  with 
a  pair  of  wooden  legs  as  with  the  stumps  the  binding 
has  left  her!" 

As  a  rule  I  did  not  see  the  beginnings,  for 
though  the  women  go  about  a  little,  the  small  girls 
are  kept  at  home.  But  once  on  this  journey,  at  a 
poor  little  inn  in  the  mountains,  among  the  crowd 
gathered  to  see  the  foreign  woman  were  two  little 
girls  about  eight  or  nine,  evidently  the  innkeeper's 
daughters.  They  were  well-dressed  among  a  ragged 
crew.  Their  smocks  were  of  bright  blue  cotton, 
their  neat  little  red  cotton  trousers  were  drawn  in 
at  their  ankles,  and  their  feet,  in  tiny  embroidered 
shoes,  were  about  big  enough  for  a  child  of  three. 
There  was  paint  on  their  cheeks  to  hide  their  piteous 
whiteness,  and  their  faces  were  drawn  with  that 
haunting  look  which  long-continued  pain  gives.  As 
they  stood  they  rested  their  hands  on  their  com- 
panions' shoulders,  and,  when  they  moved,  it  was 
with  extreme  difficulty.  No  one  took  any  notice  of 
them.  They  were  simply  little  girls  suffering  the 
usual  agonies  that  custom  has  ordained  a  woman 


THE    TUNGLING  171 

shall  suffer  before  she  is  considered  a  meet  play- 
thing and  slave  for  a  man.  A  woman  who  would 
be  of  any  standing  at  all  must  so  suffer.  Poor  little 
uncomplaining  mites,  they  laughed  and  talked,  but 
their  faces,  white  and  strained  under  the  paint, 
haunted  me  the  livelong  night,  and  I  felt  that  I  who 
stood  by  and  suffered  this  thing  was  guilty  of  a 
wicked  wrong  to  my  fellows. 

And  foot  binding  may  result  in  death.  There 
was  a  child  whose  father,  a  widower,  not  knowing 
what  to  do  with  his  little  girl,  an  asset  of  small  value, 
sold  her  to  a  woman  of  ill  repute.  The  little  slave 
was  five  years  old,  but  as  yet,  her  feet  had  not  been 
bound.  Her  mistress  of  course  took  her  in  hand 
and  bound  her  feet,  so  that  she  might  be  married 
some  day.  But  her  feet  being  bound  did  not  exempt 
small  Wong  Lan  from  her  household  duties.  Every 
morning,  baby  as  she  was,  she  had  to  get  up,  kindle 
the  fire,  and  take  hot  water  to  her  mistress,  who,  in 
her  turn,  did  not  give  the  attention  they  required 
to  the  poor  little  feet.  With  feet  sore,  ulcerated  and 
dirty,  she  went  about  such  household  duties  as  a 
little  child  could  do,  till  they  grew  so  bad  she  could 
only  lie  about  and  moan,  and  was  a  nuisance  to  the 
woman  who  had  taken  her.  At  last  a  man  living 
in  the  same  courtyard  had  pity  on  her.  He  was  a 
mason  and  had  worked  at  the  great  hospital  the 
foreigners  had  set  up  just  outside  the  walls  of  the 
city  where  they  lived,  and  he  took  her  in  his  arms, 
a  baby  not  yet  seven,  and  brought  her  to  the  doctor. 
She  had  cried  and  cried,  he  said,  and  he  thought  she 
would  die  if  she  were  left.  The  doctor  when  he 
took  her  thought  she  was  going  to  die  whether  she 
were  left  or  not.  There  and  then  he  took  a  pair  of 


172  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

scissors,  snapped  two  threads  and  one  foot  was  off, 
still  in  its  filthy  little  slipper.  The  whole  leg  was 
gangrenous  and  they  nursed  the  baby  up  for  a  week 
till  she  was  strong  enough  to  have  the  leg  amputated 
at  the  hip.  She  grew  better,  though  the  doctor 
shook  his  head  over  her.  The  missionaries  decided 
they  had  better  keep  her,  and  as  she  recovered,  they 
set  about  getting  her  crutches.  A  Chinese  woman 
evidently  begins  to  be  self-conscious  very  soon,  for 
the  mite  cried  bitterly  when  they  wanted  to  measure 
her.  The  Chinese  have  a  great  horror  of  any 
deformity,  and  she  thought  she  would  be  an  object 
of  scorn  if  she  went  about  on  crutches,  and  everyone 
could  see  she  had  only  one  leg.  Her  idea  was  that 
she  should  sit  all  day  long  on  the  k'ang,  and  then 
it  would  be  hidden.  However,  her  guardians  pre- 
vailed, and  presently  she  was  hopping  about  the 
missionary  compound,  and  being  a  pretty,  taking 
little  girl  soon  found  friends  who  forgot,  or  what 
was  more  important,  taught  Her  to  forget,  that  she 
was  crippled.  Someone  gave  her  a  doll,  and  with 
this  treasure  tucked  under  her  arm,  she  paid  visits 
from  one  house  to  the  other,  happy  as  the  day  was 
long,  petted  by  Chinese  and  foreigners  alike.  But 
the  doctor  who  had  shaken  his  head  over  her  at  first 
was  right.  The  poison  was  in  her  system,  and  in  a 
little  over  six  months  from  the  day  she  was  brought 
in  to  the  hospital  she  died.  Poor  little  mite!  For 
six  months  she  had  been  perfectly  happy.  The  man 
who  had  brought  her  in  made  her  a  coffin,  the  aliens 
who  had  succoured  and  cared  for  her  laid  her  there 
with  the  doll  she  had  been  so  proud  of  in  her  arms, 
and  told  all  the  Chinese  who  had  known  her  they 
might  come  and  say  a  last  farewell.  They  came, 


THE    TUNGLING  173 

and  then — oh  curious  human  nature! — someone 
stole  the  poor  little  makeshift  doll  from  the  dead 
baby's  arms ! 

Of  course  cruelty  to  children  is  a  sin  that  is  met 
with  in  countries  nearer  home,  is,  in  fact,  more 
common  in  Christian  England  than  in  heathen 
China.  This  was  a  death  that  was  attributable  to 
the  low  value  that  is  set  on  the  girl  child  and  to  the 
cruel  custom  of  binding  the  feet. 

And  not  hundreds  and  thousands  but  millions  of 
women  so  suffer.  The  practice,  they  say,  is  dying 
out  among  the  more  enlightened  in  the  towns,  but 
in  the  country,  within  fifteen  miles  of  Peking,  it  is  in 
full  swing.  Not  only  are  these  "  golden  lilies  "  con- 
sidered beautiful.,  but  the  woman  with  bound  feet  is 
popularly  supposed  to  care  more  for  the  caresses  of 
her  lord,  than  she  with  natural  feet.  Of  course,  a 
man  may  not  choose  his  wife,  his  mother  does  that 
for  him,  he  may  not  even  see  her,  but  he  can,  and 
very  naturally  often  does,  ask  questions  about  her. 
The  question  he  generally  asks  is  not :  "  Has  she  a 
pretty  face?"  but:  "Has  she  small  feet?"  But  if 
he  did  not  think  about  it,  the  women  of  his  family 
would  consider  it  for  him. 

A  woman  told  me,  how,  in  the  north  of  Chihli,  the 
custom  was  for  the  women  of  the  bridegroom's 
family  to  gather  round  the  newly  arrived  bride  who 
sat  there,  silent  and  submissive,  while  they  made 
comments  upon  her  appearance. 

"  Hoo !  she's  ugly !  "  Or  worst  taunt  of  all,  "  Hoo ! 
What  big  feet  she's  got ! " 

Many  will  tell  you  it  is  not  the  men  who  insist 
upon  bound  feet,  but  the  women.  And,  if  that  is 
so,  to  m,e  it  only  deepens  the  tragedy.  Imagine 


174  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

how  apart  the  women  must  be  from  the  men,  when 
they  think,  without  a  shadow  of  truth,  that  to  be 
pleasing  to  a  man,  a  woman  must  be  crippled.  The 
women  are  hardly  to  be  blamed.  If  they  are  so 
ignorant  as  to  believe  that  no  woman  with  large 
feet  can  hope  to  become  a  wife  and  mother,  what 
else  can  they  do  but  bind  the  little  girls'  feet? 
Would  any  woman  dare  deprive  her  daughter  of  all 
chance  of  wifehood  and  motherhood  by  leaving  her 
feet  unbound?  Oh  the  lot  of  a  woman  in  China  is 
a  cruel  one,  civilised  into  a  man's  toy  and  slave.  I 
had  a  thousand  times  rather  be  a  negress,  one  of 
those  business-like  trading  women  of  Tarquah,  or 
one  of  the  capable,  independent  housewives  of  Keta. 
But  to  be  a  Chinese  woman !  God  forbid ! 

It  seems  very  difficult  to  make  a  Chinaman  under- 
stand that  a  woman  has  any  rights,  even  a  foreign 
woman,  apart  from  a  man.  I  remember  being  par- 
ticularly struck  with  this  once  at  Pao  Ting  Fu,  the 
capital  of  Chihli,  a  walled  town  about  three  hours 
by  rail  from  Peking.  I  lost  a  third  of  my  luggage 
by  the  way,  because  the  powers  that  be,  having 
charged  me  a  dollar  and  a  half  for  its  carriage, 
divided  it  into  three  parts,  and  by  the  time  I  had 
discovered  in  what  corner  the  last  lot  was  stowed, 
the  train  was  moving  on,  and  I  could  only  be  com- 
fortably sure  it  was  being  taken  away  from  me  at 
the  rate  of  twenty  miles  an  hour.  However,  the 
stationmaster  assured  Dr  Lewis,  the  missionary 
doctor  with  whom  I  was  living,  that  it  should  be 
brought  back  by  the  next  day. 

Accordingly,  next  day,  accompanied  by  a  coolie 
who  spoke  no  English,  I  wended  my  way  to  the 
railway  station  and  inquired  for  that  luggage.  The 


TUG-OF-WAR,    BUDDHIST    ORPHANAGE. 

(  See  page  i.;tS) 


MISSIONARY   COMPOUND,    LOOKING   EAST. 


THE    TUNGLING  175 

coolie  had  been  instructed  what  to  say,  and  I  thought 
they  would  simply  bring  me  into  contact  with  my 
lost  property.  I  would  pay  any  money  that  was  due, 
and  the  thing  would  be  finished.  But  I  had  not 
reckoned  on  my  standing,  or  want  of  standing,  as  a 
woman. 

Nobody  could  speak  a  word  of  English.     In  the 
course  of  five  minutes  I  should  say,  the  entire  station 
staff  of  Pao  Ting  Fu  stood  around  me,  and  vocifer- 
ously gave  me  their  views — on  the  weather  and  the 
latest  political  developments  for  all  I  know.     If  it 
was  about  the  luggage  I  was  no  wiser.     Some  were 
dressed  in  khaki,  some  in  dark  cloth  with  uniform 
caps,  and  most  had  the  wild  hair  that  comes  to  the 
lower   classes   with   the   cutting   off   of   the   queue. 
There  were  about  a  dozen  of  them  with  a  few  idlers 
in  blue  cotton,  patched,  dirty,  faded,   and  darned, 
and  some  of  these  wore  queues,   queues  that  had 
been  slept  in  for  about  a  week  without  attention, 
and  they  were  all  quite  anxious  to  te  nice  to  the 
foreign  woman,  and  took  turns  in  trying  to  make 
her   understand.     In   vain.     What   they   wanted    I 
could  not  imagine.     At  last  a  lane  opened,  and  I 
guessed  the  vociferating  crowd  were  saying :  "  Here 
is  the  very  man  to  tackle  the  situation."     There  came 
along  a  little  man  in  dark  cloth  who  stood  before  me 
and  in  the  politest  manner  laid  a  dirty,  admonitory 
finger   upon   my    breast.     He    had    a    rudimentary 
knowledge  of  English  but  it  was  very  rudimentary, 
and  I  remembered  promptly  that  this  was  a  French 
railway. 

"  Parlez-vous  Franfais?"  said  I,  wondering  if  my 
French  would  carry  me  through. 

He  shook  his  head.     As  a  matter  of  fact  English, 


176  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

pidgin- English,  is  the  language  of  China,  when 
another  tongue  is  wanted,  and  my  new  friend's 
English  was  not  at  all  bad — what  there  was  of  it. 
Though  why  I  should  go  to  their  country  and  expect 
these  people  to  understand  me  I'm  sure  I  do  not 
know. 

"  Your   luggage  is  here,"   said  he   very   slowly, 
emphasising  every  word  by  a  tap. 

"  Thank  Heaven,"  I  sighed,  "  take  me  to  it,"  but 
he  paid  no  heed. 

'  You  " — and  he  tapped  on   solemnly — "  must — 
send — your — husband." 

This  was  a  puzzler.  "  My  husband,"  I  said 
meekly,  "  is  dead." 

It  looked  like  a  deadlock.  It  was  apparently 
impossible  to  deliver  up  her  luggage  to  a  woman 
whose  husband  was  dead.  Everybody  on  the  plat- 
form, including  the  idlers,  made  some  suggestion  to 
relieve  the  strain,  and  feeling  that  it  might  help 
matters,  I  said  he  had  been  dead  a  very  long  time, 
I  was  a  lonely  orphan  and  I  had  no  brothers.  They 
probably  discussed  the  likelihood  of  my  having  any 
other  responsible  male  belongings  and  dismissed  it, 
and  the  man,  who  knew  English,  returned  to  the 
charge. 

"Where — do — you — stay?"  and  he  tapped  his 
way  through  the  sentence. 

"At  Dr  Lewis's."  I  felt  like  doing  it  singsong 
fashion  myself. 

"  You — must — tell — Lu  Tai  Fu — to — come." 

"  But,"  I  remonstrated,  "  Dr  Lewis  is  busy,  and 
he  does  not  know  the  luggage." 

There  was  another  long  confabulation,  then  a 
brilliant  idea  flashed  like  a  meteor  across  the  crowd. 


THE    TUNGLING  177 

"  You  —  must  —  go  —  back  —  and  —  write  —  a 
— letter,"  and  with  a  decisive  tap  my  linguist  friend 
stood  back,  and  the  whole  crowd  looked  at  me  as 
much  as  to  say  that  settled  it  most  satisfactorily. 

I  argued  the  matter.     I  wanted  to  see  the  luggage. 

"  The — luggage — is — here  " — tapped  my  friend, 
reproachfully,  as  if  regretting  I  should  be  so  foolish 
— "  you — must  —  go  —  back — write — one — piecey — 
letter." 

"I'll  write  it  here,"  said  I,  and  after  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  taken  up  in  tapping,  I  was  con- 
ducted round  to  the  back  of  the  station,  an  elderly 
inkpot  and  a  very,  very  elderly  pen  with  a  point  like 
a  very  rusty  pin  were  produced,  but  there  was  no 
paper.  Everyone  looked  about,  under  the  benches, 
up  at  the  ceiling,  and  at  last  one  really  resourceful 
person  produced  a  luggage  label  of  a  violent  yellow 
hue,  and  on  the  back  of  that,  with  some  difficulty, 
for  as  well  as  the  bad  pen,  there  was  a  suspicion  of 
gum  on  the  paper,  I  wrote  a  letter  to  "  Dear  Sir" 
requesting  that  responsible  individual  to  hand  over 
my  luggage  to  my  servant,  I  signed  my  name  with 
as  big  a  flourish  as  the  size  of  the  label  would  allow, 
and  then  I  stood  back  and  awaited  developments. 

Everybody  in  the  room  looked  at  that  valuable 
document.  They  tried  it  sideways,  they  tried  it 
upside  down,  but  no  light  came.  At  last  the 
linguist  remarked  with  his  usual  tap : 

"  No— can— read." 

Well,  I  could  read  English,  so  with  great 
empressement  and  as  if  I  were  conferring  a  great 
favour,  I  read  that  erudite  document  aloud  to  the 
admiring  crowd,  even  to  my  own  name,  and  such 
was  the  magic  of  the  written  word,  that  in  about  two 

M 


178  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

minutes  the  lost  luggage  appeared,  and  was  handed 
over  to  my  waiting  coolie!  Only  when  I  was  gone 
doubt  fell  once  more  upon  the  company.  Could  a 
woman,  a  masterless  woman,  be  trusted?  they  ques- 
tioned. And  the  stationmaster  sent  word  to  Lu 
Tai  Fu  that  he  must  have  his  card  to  show  that  it 
was  all  right ! 

If  a  woman  counted  for  so  little  in  a  town  where 
the  foreigner  was  well  Known,  could  I  expect  much 
in  out-of-the-way  parts.  I  didn't  expect  much, 
luckily.  The  people  came  and  looked  at  me,  and 
they  were  invariably  courteous  and  polite,  with  an 
old-world  courtesy  that  must  have  come  down  to 
them  through  the  ages,  but  they  did  not  envy,  I  felt 
it  very  strongly — at  bottom  they  were  contemptuous. 
As  I  have  seen  the  lower  classes  in  an  Australian 
mining  town,  as  I  myself  have  looked  upon  a  stranger 
in  an  outlandish  dress  in  the  streets  of  London,  so 
these  country  people  looked  upon  me.  It  was  just 
as  well  to  make  the  most  of  a  show,  because  their 
lives  were  uneventful,  that  was  all. 

It  began  to  get  on  my  nerves  before  I  had  done, 
this  contemptuous  curiosity.  I  don't  know  that  I 
was  exactly  afraid,  but  I  grew  to  understand  why 
missionaries  perish  when  the  people  have  all  appa- 
rently been  well-disposed.  These  people  would  not 
have  robbed  me  themselves,  but  had  I  met  any  of 
the  robbers  I  had  been  threatened  with  in  Peking, 
I  am  sure  not  one  of  them  would  have  raised  even 
a  finger  to  help  me,  they  would  not  even  have 
protested.  I  was  outside  their  lives. 

And  at  last,  at  Malanyu,  the  hills  that  at  first  had 
loomed  purple  on  the  horizon,  fairly  overshadowed 
us,  and  I  had  arrived  at  the  first  stage  of  my 


THE    TUNGLING  179 

journey,  the  Tungling,  or  Eastern  Tombs.  We  did 
forty  miles  that  day  over  the  roughest  road  I  had 
gone  yet,  and  thankful  was  I  when  we  rumbled 
through  the  gates  of  the  dirty,  crowded,  little  town. 

We  put  up  at  the  smallest  and  filthiest  inn  I  had 
yet  met.  Chinese  towns,  even  the  smallest  country 
hamlet,  are  always  suggestive  of  slums,  and  Malanyu 
was  worse  than  usual,  but  I  slept  the  sleep  of  the 
utterly  weary,  and  next  morning  at  sunrise  I  had 
breakfast  and  went  to  see  the  tombs.  I  went  in 
state,  in  my  own  cart  with  an  extra  mule  on  in  front, 
I  seated  under  the  tilt  a  little  back,  and  my  servant 
and  the  head  "  cartee  man  "  on  the  shafts ;  and  then 
I  discovered  that  if  a  loaded  cart  is  an  abomination 
before  the  Lord,  a  light  cart  is  something  unspeak- 
able. But  we  had  seen  the  wall  that  went  round 
the  tombs  the  night  before,  just  the  other  side  of 
the  town,  so  I  consoled  myself  with  the  reflection 
that  my  sufferings  would  not  be  for  long. 

When  the  Imperial  Manchus  sought  a  last  resting- 
place  for  themselves  they  had  the  whole  of  China 
to  choose  from,  and  they  took  with  Oriental  disregard 
for  humbler  people  ;  but — saving  grace — they  chose 
wisely  though  they  chose  cruelly.  They  have  taken 
for  their  own  a  place  just  where  the  mountains  begin, 
a  place  that  must  be  miles  in  extent.  It  is  of  rich 
alluvial  soil  swept  down  by  the  rains  from  the  hills, 
and  all  China,  with  her  teeming  population,  cannot 
afford  to  waste  one  inch  of  soil.  The  tiniest  bit  of 
arable  land,  as  I  had  been  seeing  for  the  last  three 
days,  is  put  to  some  use,  it  is  tilled  and  planted  and 
carefully  tended,  though  it  bear  only  a  single  fruit- 
tree,  only  a  handful  of  grain,  but  here  we  entered  a 
park,  waste  land  covering  many  miles,  wasted  with 


180  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

a  royal  disregard  for  the  people's  needs.  It  lay  in 
a  great  bay  of  the  hills,  sterile,  stony,  rugged  hills 
with  no  trace  of  green  upon  them,  hills  that  stand 
up  a  perfect  background  to  a  most  perfect  place  of 
tombs.  I  had  thought  the  resting-place  of  the 
Mings  wonderful,  but  surely  there  is  no  such  place 
for  the  honoured  dead  as  that  the  Manchus  have  set 
up  at  the  Eastern  Tombs. 

Immediately  we  entered  the  gateway,  the  cart 
jolting  wickedly  along  a  hardly  defined  track,  I  found 
myself  in  a  forest  of  firs  and  pines  that  grew  denser 
as  we  advanced.  Here  and  there  was  a  poplar  or 
other  deciduous  tree,  green  with  the  greenness  of 
Maytime,  but  the  touch  of  lighter  colour  only  empha- 
sised the  sombreness  of  the  pines  and  firs  that,  with 
their  dark  foliage,  deepened  the  solemnity  of  the 
scene.  Through  their  branches  peeped  the  deep 
blue  sky,  and  every  now  and  again  they  opened  out 
a  little,  and  beyond  I  could  see  the  bare  hills, 
brown,  and  orange,  and  purple,  but  always  beautiful, 
with  the  shadows  chasing  each  other  over  them,  and 
losing  themselves  in  their  folds.  Spacious,  grand, 
silent,  truly  an  ideal  place  for  the  burial  of  Emperors 
and  their  consorts  is  hidden  here  in  the  heart  of 
mysterious,  matter-of-fact  China,  and  once  again  I 
was  shown,  as  I  was  being  shown  every  day,  another 
side  of  China  from  the  toiling  thousands  I  saw  in  the 
great  city  and  on  the  country  roads. 

Dotted  about  in  this  great  park,  with  long  vistas 
in  between^  are  the  tombs.  They  are  enclosed  in 
walls,  walls  of  the  pinkish  red  that  encloses  all 
imperial  grounds,  generally  there  is  a  caretaker,  and 
they  look  for  all  the  world  like  comfortable  houses, 
picturesque  and  artistic,  nestling  secluded  and  away 


THE    TUNGLING  181 

from  the  rush  and  roar  of  cities,  homes  where  a  man 
may  take  his  well-earned  rest.  The  filthy  inn  at 
which  I  stayed,  the  reeking  little  town  of  Malanyu, 
though  it  is  at  the  very  gates,  is  as  far-removed  from 
all  contact  with  the  tombs  as  are  the  slums  of  Notting 
Dale  from  the  mansions  in  Park  Lane,  or  the  sordid, 
mean  streets  of  Paddington  from  the  home  of  the 
King  in  Buckingham  Palace.  The  birds,  the 
innumerable,  much-loved  birds  of  China  sang  in  the 
trees  their  welcome  to  the  glorious  May  morning, 
and  the  only  thing  out  of  keeping  was  my  groaning, 
jolting,  complaining  Peking  cart  and  the  shouts  of 
the  "  cartee  man  "  assuring  the  mules,  so  I  have  been 
told,  that  the  morals  of  their  female  relatives  were 
certainly  not  above  suspicion. 

Here  and  there,  among  the  trees,  rose  up  marble 
pillars  tall  and  stately,  carved  with  dragons  and 
winged  at  the  top,  such  as  one  sees  in  representa- 
tions of  Babylon  and  Nineveh,  there  was  a  marble 
bridge,  magnificent,  with  the  grass  growing  up 
between  the  great  paving-stones  that  here,  as  every- 
where in  China,  seem  to  mark  the  small  value  that 
has  been  put  on  human  flesh  and  blood,  for  by 
human  hands  have  they  been  placed  here,  and  the 
uprights  are  crowned  by  the  symbolic  cloud  form, 
caught  in  the  marble.  This  bridge  crosses  no 
stream.  It  is  evidently  just  a  manifestation  of 
power,  the  power  that  crushes,  and  beyond  it  is  an 
avenue  of  marble  animals.  There  they  stand  on 
the  green  sward,  the  green  sward  stolen  from  the 
hungry,  curving  away  towards  the  p'ia  lou  stand,  as 
they  have  stood  for  many  a  long  year,  horses, 
elephants,  fabulous  beasts  that  might  have  come  out 
of  the  Book  of  Revelations,  guarding  the  entrance 


182  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

to  the  place  of  rest.  They  are  not  nearly  so  magni- 
ficent as  the  avenue  at  the  Ming  Tombs,  they  are 
only  quaintly  Chinese,  it  is  the  winged  pillars,  the 
silence,  the  sombre  pine  and  fir-trees,  and  the  ever- 
lasting hills  behind  that  give  them  dignity. 

And  now  Tuan  became  very  important.     I  began 
to  feel  that  he  had  arranged  the  whole  for  my  benefit, 
and  was  keeping  the  best  piece  back  to  crown  it  all. 
We  came  to  a  piece  of  wild  country  and  I  was  re- 
quested to  get  out  of  the  cart.     Getting  out  of  the 
cart  where  there  was  no  place  to  step  was  always  a 
business.     I  was  stiff  from  the  jolting,   felt  disin- 
clined to  be  very  acrobatic,  and  Tuan  always  felt  it 
his  bounden  duty  to  stretch  out  his  arms  to  catch  me, 
or  break  my  fall.     He  was  so  small,  though  he  was 
round  and  fat,  that  he  always  complicated  matters 
by  making  me  feel  that  if  I  did  fall  I  should  certainly 
materially  damage  him,  but  it  was  no  good  protest- 
ing,  it  was  the  correct  thing  for  him  to  help  his 
Missie  out  of  her  cart,  and  he  was  prepared  to  perish 
in  the  attempt.     However,  here  was  a  soft  cushion 
of  fragrant  pine  needles,  so  I  scrambled  down  with- 
out any  of  the  qualms  from  which  I  usually  suffered. 
We  had  come  to  a  halt  for  a  moment  by  the  steep 
side  of  a  little  wooded  hill  where  a  narrow  footpath 
wound  round  it.     Just  such   a  modest  little  path 
between  steep  rising  ground  one  might  see  in  the 
Surrey  Hills.     It  invites  to  a  secluded  glen,    but 
no  cart  could  possibly  go  along  it,  it  is  necessary  to 
walk.     I  turned  the  corner  of  the  hill  and  lo!  there 
was  a  paved  way,  a  newly  paved  way,  such  as  I  have 
seldom  seen  in  China.     The  faint  morning  breeze 
stirred    among    the    pine    needles,    making    a    low, 
mysterious  whispering,   and  out  against  the   back- 


1? 


*fl 


THE    TUNGLING 

ground  stood,  a  splash  of  brilliant,  glowing  colour, 
the  many  roofs  of  golden-brown  tiles  that  cover  the 
mausoleum  of  the  great  woman  who  once  ruled  over 
China,  the  last  who  made  a  stand,  a  futile  stand, 
against  foreign  aggression,  and  now  a  foreigner  and 
a  woman,  unarmed  and  alone,  might  come  safely 
and  stand  beside  her  tomb. 

Perhaps  that  was  the  best  way  to  view  it,  at  any 
rate  inside  I  could  not  go,  for  the  key  I  discovered 
was  at  Malanyu,  and  it  would  have  taken  me  at 
least  half  a  day  to  go  back  and  get  it.  Besides  I 
don't  think  I  wanted  to  go  inside.  I  would  not  for 
the  world  have  spoilt  the  memory  that  remains  in  my 
mind  by  any  tawdry  detail  such  as  I  had  seen  at  the 
younger  Empress's  funeral.  It  was  just  a  little 
spoilt  as  it  was  by  my  boy,  who  came  along  mysteri- 
ously and  pointed  with  a  secret  finger  at  the  custodian 
of  the  tomb,  who  had  not  the  keys. 

"  Suppose  Missie  makee  littee  cumshaw.  Sup- 
pose my  payee  one  dollar." 

And  I  expect  the  man  did  get  perhaps  sixty  cents, 
because  Tuan  was  bent  on  impressing  on  these 
people  the  fact  that  his  Missie  was  a  very  important 
woman  indeed. 

It  was  worth  it^  it  was  well  worth  it. 

They  say  that  the  old  in  China  "is  passing  away. 
"  Behold  upon  the  mountains  the  feet  of  him  that 
bringeth  good  tidings."  Will  they  sweep  away 
these  tombs  and  give  this  land  to  the  people?  I 
hope  not,  I  think  not,  I  pray  not.  The  present  in 
China  is  inextricably  mixed  up  with  the  past.  "  Oh 
Judah  keep  thy  solemn  feast,  perform  thy  vows." 
Sometimes  it  is  surely  well  that  the  beautiful  should 
be  kept  for  a  nation,  even  at  great  cost. 


CHAPTER   XI 

A     WALLED     CITY 

Numerous  walled  towns — The  dirt  of  them— T'ung  Chou— 
Romance  of  the  evening  light — My  own  little  walled  city — 
The  gateways— Hospitable  landlady — Bald  heads— My  land- 
lady's room — A  return  present—"  The  ringleaders  have  been 
executed " — Summary  justice — To  the  rescue  of  the 
missionaries  at  Hsi  An  Fu — The  Elder  Brother  Society- 
Primitive  method  of  attack  and  defence — The  sack  of  I 
Chun. 

OH  that  first  walled  city!  It  was  the  first  of  many 
walled  cities,  many  of  them  so  small  that  it  did  not 
take  us  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  cross  from 
gate  to  gate ;  but  to  enter  one  and  all  was  like  open- 
ing a  door  into  the  past,  into  the  life  our  forbears 
lived  before  the  country  I  was  born  and  brought  up 
in  was  ever  thought  of.  When  I  was  a  little  girl, 
I  cherished  a  desire  to  marry  a  German  baron,  a 
German  baron  of  the  Middle  Ages,  who  lived  in  a 
castle,  and  1  could  not  help  thinking,  as  the  influenza 
left  me  and  I  regained  my  powers  of  thought,  that 
here  were  the  towns  of  my  German  baron's  time — 
dirt  and  all.  In  my  childhood  I  had  never  thought 
of  the  dirt,  or  perhaps  I  had  not  minded.  One 
thing  is  certain,  in  the  clean  land  of  my  childhood 
I  never  realised  what  the  dirt  that  comes  from  a 
packed  population,  from  seething  humanity,  can  be 
like.  The  Chinese  live  in  these  crowded  towns  for 

184 


A  WALLED  CITY  185 

the  sake  of  security — of  security  in  this  twentieth 
century — for  even  still,  China  seems  to  be  much 
in  the  condition  of  Europe  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
safety  cannot  be  absolutely  counted  upon  inside  the 
gates  of  a  town,  but  at  least  it  is  a  little  safer  than 
the  open  country. 

We  passed  through  Tung  Chou  when  the  soft 
tender  evening  shadows  were  falling  upon  battle- 
ments and  walls  built  by  a  nation  that,  though 
it  is  most  practical,  is  also  one  of  the  most  poetical 
on  earth;  we  passed  through  Chi  Chou  when  the 
shadows  were  long  in  the  early  morning,  and  in 
the  sunlight  was  the  hope  of  the  new-born  day. 
Through  the  gate  was  coming  a  train  of  Peking 
carts,  of  laden  donkeys,  of  great  grain  carts  with 
seven  mules,  all  bound  for  the  capital  in  the  south. 

I  remember  these  two  perhaps  because  they  were 
the  first  of  many  walled  towns,  but  Tsung  Hua  Chou 
will  always  remain  in  my  memory  as  my  own  little 
walled  city,  the  one  that  I  explored  carefully  all  by 
myself,  and,  when  I  think  of  a  walled  town,  my 
thoughts  always  fly  back  to  that  little  town,  three- 
quarters  of  a  mile  square,  at  the  foot  of  the  hills  that 
mark  the  limit  of  the  great  plain  of  China  proper. 

It  was  Tuan's  suggestion  we  should  stay  there. 
I  would  have  lingered  at  the  tombs,  but  he  was 
emphatic. 

"  Missie  want  make  picture.  More  better  we 
stop  Tsung  Hua  Chou.  Fine  picture  Tsung  Hua 
Chou." 

There  weren't  fine  pictures  at  Tsung  Hua  Chou. 
He  had  struck  up  a  great  friendship  with  the 
"cartee  man,"  and,  perhaps,  either  he  or  the  "  cartee 
man  "  had  a  favourite  gaming-house,  or  a  favourite 


186  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

singing  girl  in  the  town.  At  any  rate  we  went,  and 
I,  for  some  hardly  explainable  reason,  am  glad  we 
did. 

The  road  from  the  tombs  was  simply  appalling. 
The  hills  frowned  down  on  us,  close  on  either  side, 
high  and  steep  and  rugged,  but  the  rough  valley 
bottom,  up  which  we  went,  was  the  wildest  I  was  to 
see  for  a  long  time.  To  say  I  was  tossed  and  jolted, 
is  to  but  mildly  express  the  condition  of  affairs.  I 
sat  on  a  cushion,  I  packed  my  bedding  round  me, 
and  with  both  my  hands  I  held  on  to  the  side  of 
the  cart,  and  if  for  one  moment  I  relaxed  the 
rigidity  of  my  aching  arms,  my  head  or  some  other 
portion  of  my  aching  anatomy,  was  brought  into 
contact  with  the  woodwork  of  the  cart,  just  in  the 
place  I  had  reckoned  the  woodwork  could  not 
possibly  have  reached  me.  There  were  little 
streams  and  bridges  across  them,  which  I  particu- 
larly dreaded,  for  the  bridges  were  always  roughly 
paved,  but  it  was  nobody's  business  to  see  that  the 
road  and  the  pavement  met  neatly,  and  the  jolt  the 
cart  gave,  both  getting  on  and  getting  off,  nearly 
shook  the  soul  out  of  my  body.  I  thought  of 
walking,  for  our  progress  was  very  slow,  but  in 
addition  to  the  going  being  bad,  the  mules  went  just 
a  little  faster  than  I  did,  three  and  a  half  miles  an 
hour  to  my  three,  and  I  felt  there  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  resign  myself  and  make  the  best  of  a  bad 
job.  Not  for  worlds  would  I  have  lingered  an 
hour  longer  on  that  road  than  I  was  absolutely 
obliged.  And  yet,  bad  as  it  was,  it  was  the  best 
road  I  had  till  I  got  back  to  Peking  again.  There 
may  be  worse  roads  than  those  of  China,  and  there 
may  be  worse  ways  of  getting  over  them  than  in  a 


A  WALLED  CITY  187 

Peking  cart,  but  I  do  trust   I  never  come  across 
them. 

We  entered  the  gates  of  the  city  as  the  evening 
shadows  were  growing  long,   and  as  usual,   I  was 
carried  back  to  the  days  of  the  Crusaders — or  farther 
still  to  Babylon — as  we  rumbled  under  the  arched 
gateway,   but  inside  it  was  like   every  other  town 
I   have  seen,   dirty,   sordid,  crowded,   with  uneven 
pavements  that   there   was   no  getting  away  from. 
Within  the  curtain  wall,  that  guarded  the  gate,  there 
were  the  usual  little  stalls  for  the  sale  of  cakes,  big, 
round,  flat  cakes  and  little  scone-like  cakes,  studded 
with  sesame  seed,  or  a  bright  pink  sweetmeat ;  there 
were  the  sellers  of  pottery  ware,   basins  and  pots 
of  all  sorts,  and  the  people  stared  at  the  foreign 
woman,  the  wealthy  foreign  woman  who  ran  to  two 
carts.     It  is  an   unheard-of  thing  in  China   for   a 
Chinese  woman  to  travel  alone,  though  sometimes 
the  foreign  missionary  women  do,  but  they  would 
invariably  be   accompanied  by  a   Chinese  woman, 
and  one  woman  would  not  be  likely  to  have  two 
carts.     One   thing  was   certain  however,  my   outfit 
was  all  that  it  should  have  been,  bar  the  lack  of  a 
male  protector.     It  bespoke  me  a  woman  of  wealth 
and  position  in  the  eyes  of  the  country  folk,  and  the 
people  of  the  little  towns  through  which  I  passed. 
It  is  possible  that  a  mule  litter  might  have  enhanced 
my  dignity;    but  after  all,    two   Peking   carts   was 
very  much  like  having  a  first-class  compartment  all 
to  myself. 

There  were  no  foreigners,  that  I  could  hear  of, 
in  Tsung  Hua  Chou.  The  missionaries  had  fled 
during  the  Boxer  trouble,  and  never  come  back, 
so  that  I  was  more  of  a  show  than  usual,  though 


188  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

indeed,  in  all  the  towns  I  passed  through  I  was  a 
show,  and  the  people  stared,  and  chattered,  and 
crowded  round  the  carts,  and  evidently  closely 
questioned  the  carters. 

They  tell  me  Chinese  carters  are  often  rascals, 
but  I  grew  to  like  mine  very  much  before  we  parted 
company. 

They  were  stolid  men  in  blue,  with  dirty  rags 
wrapped  round  their  heads  to  keep  off  the  dust,  and 
I  have  no  reason  to  suppose  that  they  affected  water 
any  more  than  the  rest  of  the  population,  whereby 
I  perceive,  my  affections  are  not  so  much  guided  by 
a  desire  for  cleanliness  as  I  had  once  supposed. 
They  both  had  the  hands  of  artists,  artists  with  very 
dirty  nails,  so  it  may  be  a  feeling  of  brotherhood 
had  something  to  do  with  my  feelings,  for  I  am 
hoping  you  who  read  will  count  me  an  artist  in  a 
small  way.  What  romance  they  wove  about  me, 
for  the  benefit  of  the  questioning  people,  I  don't 
know,  but  the  result  of  their  communications  was 
that  the  crowd  pressed  closer,  and  stared  harder, 
and  they  were  evil-smelling,  and  had  never,  never 
in  all  their  lives  been  washed.  I  ceased  to  wonder 
that  I  ached  all  over  with  the  jolting  and  rumbling 
of  the  cart:,  I  only  wondered  if  something  worse  had 
not  befallen  me,  and  how  it  happened  that  these 
people,  who  crowded  round,  staring  as  if  never  in 
their  lives  had  they  seen  a  foreign  woman  before, 
did  not  fall  victims  to  some  horrible  pestilence. 

For  once  inside  Tsung  Hua  Chou  I  saw  no 
beauty  in  it,  for  all  the  romantic  walls  outside. 
The  evil-smelling  streets  we  rumbled  through  to  the 
inn  were  wickedly  narrow,  and  down  the  centre  hung 
notices  in  Chinese  characters  on  long  strips  of 


OUTSIDE  A  WALLED  CITY. 


GATE  OF  A  WALLED  CITY. 


A  WALLED  CITY  189 

paper  white  and  red,  and  pigs,  and  children,  and 
creaking  wheelbarrows,  and  men  with  loads,  blocked 
the  way.  But  we  jolted  over  the  step  into  the 
courtyard  of  the  inn  at  last,  quite  a  big  courtyard, 
and  quite  a  busy  inn.  This  was  an  inn  where  they 
apparently  ran  a  restaurant,  for  as  I  climbed  stiffly 
out  of  my  cart  a  servant,  carrying  a  tray  of  little 
basins  containing  the  soups  and  stews  the  Chinese 
eat,  was  so  absorbed  in  gazing  at  me  he  ran  into 
the  "  cartee  man,"  and  a  catastrophe  occurred  which 
was  the  occasion  of  much  bad  language. 

The  courtyard  was  crowded.  There  were  blue- 
tilted  Peking  carts,  there  were  mules,  there  were 
donkeys,  there  were  men  of  all  sorts ;  but  there  was 
only  one  wretched  little  room  for  me.  It  was  very 
dirty  too,  and  I  was  very  tired.  What  was  to  be 
done? 

"  Plenty  Chinese  gentlemen  sleep  here,"  declared 
Tuan,  and  I  could  quite  believe  it.  At  the  door  of 
every  lattice-windowed  room  that  looked  out  on  to 
that  busy  courtyard,  stood  one,  or  perhaps  two 
Chinese  of  the  better  class — long  petticoats,  shaven 
head,  queue  and  all — each  held  in  his  hand  a  long, 
silver-mounted  pipe  from  which  he  took  languid 
whiffs,  and  he  looked  under  his  eyelids,  which  is 
the  polite  way,  at  the  foreign  woman.  The  foreign 
woman  was  very  dirty,  very  tired,  and  very  uncom- 
fortable, and  the  room  looked  very  hopeless.  The 
"  cartee  men  "  declared  that  this  was  the  best  inn  in 
the  town,  and  anyhow  I  was  disinclined  to  go  out 
and  look  for  other  quarters.  Then  there  came 
tottering  forward  an  old  woman  with  tiny  feet,  one 
eye  and  a  yellow  flower  stuck  in  the  knot  at  the 
back  of  her  bald  head.  China  is  the  country  of  bald 


190  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

women.  The  men,  I  presume,  would  not  mind  it 
very  much,  as  for  so  long  they  have  shaven  off  at 
least  half  their  hair,  but  the  women  certainly  must, 
for  if  they  can  they  dress  their  dark  hair  very 
elaborately.  And  yet  have  I  seen  many  women, 
like  this  innkeeper's  wife,  with  a  head  so  bald  that 
but  a  few  strands  of  hair  cover  its  nakedness,  yet 
those  few  poor  hairs  are  gathered  together  into  an 
arrangement  of  black  silk  shaped  something  like  a 
horn,  and  beside  it  is  placed  a  flower,  a  rose,  a  pink 
oleander  blossom,  or  a  bright  yellow  flower  for 
which  I  have  no  name.  That  flower  gives  a  finish 
to  a  sleek  and  well-dressed  head,  when  the  owner 
has  plenty  of  hair,  but  when  she  has  only  the  heavy 
horn  of  silk,  half  a  dozen  hairs,  and  the  rest  of  her 
bald  pate  covered  with  a  black  varnish,  it  is  a  poor 
travesty.  When  a  girl  marries,  immediately  after 
her  husband  has  lifted  her  veil  and  she  is  left  to  the 
women  of  his  family  they  pluck  out  the  front  hairs 
on  her  forehead,  so  as  to  give  a  square  effect,  and 
the  hair  is  drawn  very  tightly  back  and  gathered 
generally  into  this  horn.  I  suspect  this  heavy  horn 
is  responsible  for  the  baldness,  though  an  American 
of  my  acquaintance  declares  it  is  the  plucking  out  of 
the  hairs  on  the  forehead.  "  The  rest  of  the  hair," 
says  he,  "  kinder  gets  discouraged." 

This  innkeeper's  wife  was  very  kindly.  She  said 
I  should  not  sleep  in  that  room,  I  should  have  her 
room,  and  she  would  go  to  her  mother's.  The 
mother  was  a  surprise  to  me.  I  hope  when  I  am  as 
old  as  she  looked  I  shall  have  a  mother  to  go  to. 

Now  I  do  not  as  a  rule  embrace  my  landlady. 
In  England  I  couldn't  even  imagine  myself  feeling 
particularly  kindly  towards  a  dirty  little  woman  clad 


A  WALLED  CITY  191 

in  a  shirt  and  trousers  of  exceedingly  dirty  blue 
cotton,  but  the  intention  was  so  evidently  kind  and 
hospitable,  I  knew  not  a  word  of  her  tongue,  and 
was  by  no  means  sure  the  valued  Tuan  would 
translate  my  words  of  thanks  properly,  so  I  could 
but  take  both  her  very  dirty  little  hands  in  mine, 
clasp  them  warmly,  and  try  and  look  my  thanks. 
Then  I  inspected  her  room.  It  was  approached 
through  an  entrance  where  lime  was  stored,  it  was 
rather  dark,  and  it  was  of  good  size,  though  on  one 
side  was  stacked  a  supply  of  stores  for  the  restaurant. 
Chinese  macaroni,  that  looks  as  if  it  were  first  cousin 
to  sheet  gelatine,  stale  eggs  and  other  nondescript 
eatables.  There  was  a  k'ang,  of  course,  quite  a  family 
k'ang,  and  there  was  a  large  mirror  on  one  wall.  I 
had  forgotten  my  camp  mirror,  so  I  looked  in  it 
eagerly,  and  the  reflection  left  me  chastened.  I 
hadn't  expected  the  journey  to  improve  my  looks, 
but  I  did  hope  it  had  not  swelled  up  one  cheek,  and 
bunged  up  the  other  eye.  I  felt  I  did  not  want  to 
stay  in  the  room  with  that  mirror,  but  there  were 
other  things  worse  than  the  mirror  in  it.  The 
beautiful  lattice-work  window  had  apparently  never 
been  opened  since  the  first  cover  of  white  tissue 
paper  had  been  put  on  it,  and  the  smell  of  human 
occupancy  there  defies  my  poor  powers  of  descrip- 
tion. The  dirty  little  place  I  had  at  first  disdained, 
had  at  least  a  door  opening  on  to  the  comparatively 
fresh  air  of  the  courtyard.  I  told  Tuan  to  explain 
that  while  I  was  delighted  to  see  her  room,  and 
admired  everything  very  much  in  it,  nothing  would 
induce  me  to  deprive  her  of  its  comforts.  She 
certainly  was  friendly.  As  I  looked  in  the  chasten- 
ing mirror,  I,  like  a  true  woman,  I  suppose,  put  up 


192  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

a  few  stray  locks  that  the  jolting  cart  had  shaken 
out  of  place,  and  she  promptly  wanted  to  do  my 
hair  herself  with  a  selection  from  an  array  of 
elderly  combs  with  which  she  probably  dressed  her 
own  scanty  locks.  That  was  too  much.  I  had  to 
decline,  I  trust  she  thought  it  was  my  modesty,  and 
then  she  offered  me  some  of  the  macaroni.  I  tried 
to  say  I  had  nothing  to  give  in  return  and  then  Tuan 
remarked,  "As  friend,  as  friend."  So  as  a  friend, 
from  that  little  maimed  one-eyed  old  woman  up  in 
the  hills  of  China,  I  took  a  handful  of  macaroni  and 
had  nothing  to  give  in  return.  I  hope  she  feels  as 
friendly  towards  me  as  I  shall  always  do  towards 
her. 

It  is  not  always  that  the  difficulty  of  giving  a 
return  present  is  on  the  foreign  side,  sometimes  it 
is  the  Chinese  who  feel  it.  I  remember  a  traveller 
for  a  business  house  telling  me  how  on  one  occasion 
he  had  gone  to  a  village  and  entertained  the  elders  at 
dinner,  giving  them  brandy  which  they  loved,  and 
liqueurs  which  seemed  to  the  unsophisticated  village 
fathers  ambrosia  fit  for  the  gods.  The  next  day, 
when  he  was  about  to  take  his  departure,  a  small 
procession  approached  him  and  one  of  them  bore 
on  a  tray  a  little  Chinese  handleless  cup  covered 
with  another.  They  said  he  could  speak  Chinese, 
so  there  was  no  need  for  an  interpreter,  that  he  had 
given  them  a  very  good  time,  they  were  very  grate- 
ful, and  they  wished  to  make  him  a  present  by 
which  he  might  remember  them  sometimes.  But 
their  village  was  poor  and  small.  It  contained 
nothing  worth  his  acceptance,  and  after  much  con- 
sultation, they  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
best  way  would  be  to  present  him  with  the  money, 


A  WALLED  CITY  193 

so  that  he  might  buy  something  for  himself  when 
he  came  to  Peking  or  some  other  large  town. 
Thereupon  the  cup  was  presented,  the  cover  lifted 
off,  and  in  the  bottom  lay  a  ten  cent  piece,  worth 
about  twopence  halfpenny.  Probably  it  seemed 
quite  an  adequate  present  to  men  who  count  their 
incomes  by  cash  of  which  a  thousand  go  to  the 
dollar. 

I  don't  think  my  landlady  minded  much  my 
declining  the  hospitality  of  her  room.  Possibly  she 
only  wished  me  to  see  its  glories,  and  presently  she 
brought  to  the  little  room  I  had  at  first  so  despised, 
and  now  looked  upon,  if  not  as  a  haven  of  rest,  at 
least  as  one  of  fresh  air,  a  couple  of  nice  hard  wood 
stools,  and  a  beautifully  carved  k'ang  table  thick  with 
grease. 

"  Say  must  make  Missie  comfortable,"  said  Tuan 
with  the  usual  suggestion  he  had  done  it  himself. 

And  those  stools  were  covered,  much  to  my 
surprise,  with  red  woollen  tapestry,  and  the  pattern 
was  one  that  I  had  seen  used  many  a  time  in  a  little 
town  on  the  Staffordshire  moors,  where  their  busi- 
ness is  to  dye  and  print.  And  here  was  one  of  the 
results  of  their  labours,  a  "Wardle  rag,"  as  we  used 
to  call  them,  up  among  the  hills  of  Northern  China. 

I  was  too  tired  to  do  anything  but  go  to  bed  that 
night  as  soon  as  I  had  had  my  dinner.  I  had  it,  as 
usual,  on  the  k'ang  table,  the  dirt  shrouded  by  my 
humble  tablecloth,  and  curious  eyes  watched  me, 
even  as  I  watched  the  trays  of  full  basins  and  the 
trays  of  empty  ones  that  were  for  ever  coming 
and  going  across  the  courtyard. 

Next  morning  my  friendly  landlady  brought  to 
see  me  two  other  small-footed  women,  both  smoking 

N 


194  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

long  pipes,  women  who  said,  through  Tuan,  their 
ages  were  forty  and  sixty  respectively,  and  who 
examined,  with  interest,  me  and  my  belongings. 
They  felt  my  boots  so  much,  good,  substantial, 
leather-built  by  Peter  Yapp,  that  at  last  I  judged 
they  would  like  to  see  what  was  underneath,  and 
took  off  a  boot  and  stocking  for  their  inspection,  and 
the  way  they  felt  my  foot  up  and  down  as  if  it  were 
something  they  had  never  before  met  in  their  lives, 
amused  me  very  much.  At  least  at  first  it  amused 
me,  and  then  it  saddened  me.  Though  they  held 
out  their  own  poor  maimed  feet,  they  did  not  return 
the  compliment  much  as  I  desired  it.  They  took 
me  across  the  courtyard  into  another  room  where, 
behind  lattice-work  windows,  that  had  not  been 
opened  for  ages,  were  two  more  women  sitting  on 
the  k'ang,  and  two  little  shaven-headed  children. 
These  were  younger  women,  tall  and  stout,  with  feet 
so  tiny,  they  called  my  attention  to  them,  that  it  did 
not  seem  to  me  possible  any  woman  could  support 
herself  upon  them.  My  boy  was  not  allowed  in,  so 
of  course  I  could  not  talk  to  them,  could  only  smile 
and  drink  tea. 

These  two  younger  women,  who  were  evidently 
of  superior  rank,  had  their  hair  most  elaborately 
dressed  and  wore  most  gorgeous  raiment.  One  was 
clad  in  purple  satin  with  a  little  black  about  it,  and 
the  other,  a  mere  girl  of  eighteen,  but  married,  for 
her  hair  was  no  longer  in  a  queue,  and  her  forehead 
was  squared,  wore  a  coat  of  pale  blue  silk  brocade 
and  grass-green  trousers  of  the  same  material. 
Their  faces  were  impassive,  as  are  the  faces  of 
Chinese  women  of  the  better  class,  but  they  smiled, 
evidently  liked  their  tortured  feet  to  be  noticed,  gave 


A  WALLED  CITY  195 

me  tea  from  the  teapot  on  the  k'ang  table,  and  then 
presently  all  four,  with  the  gaily  dressed  babies, 
tottered  out  into  the  courtyard,  the  older  women 
leading  the  toddling  children,  and  helping  the 
younger,  and,  with  the  aid  of  settles,  they  climbed 
into  two  Peking  carts,  my  elderly  friends  taking 
their  places  on  the  outside,  whereby  I  judged  they 
were  servants  or  household  slaves. 

"Chinese  wives,"  said  Tuan,  but  whether  they 
were  the  wives  of  one  man,  or  of  two,  I  had  no 
means  of  knowing.  The  costumes  of  the  two 
younger  were  certainly  not  those  in  which  I  would 
choose  to  travel  on  a  Chinese  road  in  a  Peking  cart, 
but  the  Chinese  have  a  proverb :  "  Abroad  wear  the 
new,  at  home  it  does  not  matter,"  so  they  probably 
thought  my  humble  mole-coloured  cotton  crepe, 
equally  out  of  place. 

And  when  they  were  gone  I  set  out  to  explore  the 
town. 

It  was  only  a  small  place,  built  square,  with  two 
main  roads  running  north,  and  south,  and  east,  and 
west,  and  cutting  each  other  at  right  angles  in  the 
heart  of  it.  They  were  abominably  paved.  No 
vehicle  but  a  springless  Peking  cart  would  have 
dreamt  of  making  its  way  across  that  pavement,  but 
then  probably  no  vehicle  save  a  cart  or  a  wheel- 
barrow in  all  the  years  of  the  city's  life  had  ever 
been  thought  of  there.  The  remaining  streets  were 
but  evil-smelling  alley-ways,  narrow  in  comparison 
with  the  main  ways  which,  anywhere  else,  I  should 
have  deemed  hopelessly  inadequate,  thronged  as 
they  were  with  people  and  encroached  upon  by  the 
shops  that  stood  close  on  either  side.  They  had  no 
glass  fronts,  of  course,  these  shops,  but  otherwise, 


196  A  WOMAN   IN  CHINA 

they  were  not  so  very  unlike  the  shops  one  sees  in 
the  poorer  quarters  of  the  great  towns  in  England. 
But  there  was  evidently  no  Town  Council  to  regu- 
late the  use  to  which  the  streets  should  be  put.     The 
dyer  hung  his  long  strips  of  blue  cloth  half  across 
the   roadway,   careless    of  the   convenience   of   the 
passer-by,  the  man  who  sold  cloth  had   out  little 
tables  or  benches  piled  with  white  and  blue  calico — 
I  have  seen  tradesmen  do  the  same  in  King's  Road, 
Chelsea — the    butcher    had    his   very    disagreeable 
wares  fully  displayed  half  across  the  roadway,  the 
gentleman   who   was    making   mud    bricks   for   the 
repair  of  his  house,  made  them  where  it  was  handiest 
in  the  street  close  to  the  house,  and  the  man  who 
sold    cooked    provisions,    with    his    little    portable 
kitchen  and  table,   set  himself  down  right  in  the 
fairway  and  tempted  all-comers  with  little  basins  of 
soup,  fat,  pale-looking  steamed  scones,  hard-boiled 
eggs  or  meat  turnovers. 

This  place,  hidden  behind  romantic  grey  walls, 
at  which  I  had  wondered  in  the  evening  light,  was 
in  the  morning  just  like  any  other  city,  Peking 
with  the  glory  and  beauty  gone  out  of  it,  and  the 
people  who  thronged  those  streets  were  just  the 
poorer  classes  of  Peking,  only  it  seemed  there  were 
more  naked  children  and  more  small-footed  women 
with  elaborately  dressed  hair  tottering  along, 
balancing  themselves  with  their  arms.  I  met  a 
crowd  accompanying  the  gay  scarlet  poles,  flags, 
musical  instruments  and  the  red  sedan  chair  of  a 
wedding.  The  poor  little  bride,  shut  up  in  the 
scarlet  chair,  was  going  to  her  husband's  house  and 
leaving  her  father's  for  ever.  It  is  to  be  hoped  she 
would  find  favour  in  the  sight  of  her  husband  and 


DEAD  GODS  AT  TSUNG  HUA  CHOU. 


TEMPLE  COURTYARD  AT  TSUNG  HUA  CHOU. 


A  WALLED  CITY  197 

her  husband's  women-folk.     It  was  more  important 
probably,  that  she  should  please  the  latter. 

The  bridal  party  made  a  great  noise,  but  then  all  in 
that  town  was  noise,  dirt,  crowding,  and  evil  smells. 
The  only  peaceful  place  in  it  was  the  courtyard  of 
the  little  temple  close  against  the  city  wall.  Out- 
side it  stand  two  hideous  figures  with  hands  flung  out 
in  threatening  attitude,  and  inside  were  more  figures, 
all  painted  in  the  gayest  colours.  What  they  meant 
I  have  not  lore  enough  to  know,  but  they  were  very 
hideous,  the  very  lowest  form  of  art. 

There  was  the  recording  angel  with  a  black  face 
and  the  open  book — after  all,  the  recording  angel 
must  often  wear  a  black  face — and  there  was  the 
eternal  symbol  that  has  appealed  through  all  ages 
to  all  people,  and  must  appeal  one  would  think 
above  all,  to  this  nation  that  longs  so  ardently  for 
offspring,  the  mother  with  the  child  upon  her  knee. 
But  they  were  all  ugly  to  my  Western  eyes,  and  the 
only  thing  that  charmed  me  was  the  silence,  the 
cleanliness,  and  the  quiet  of  the  courtyard,  the 
only  place  in  all  the  busy  little  city  that  was  at 
peace. 

When  I  engaged  Tuan  I  had  thought  he  was  to 
do  all  the  waiting  upon  me  I  needed,  but  it  seems  I 
made  a  mistake.  The  farther  I  got  from  Peking 
the  greater  his  importance  became,  and  here  he 
could  not  so  much  as  carry  for  me  the  lightest  wrap. 
His  business  appeared  to  be  to  engage  other  people 
to  do  the  work.  There  was  one  dilapidated  wretch 
to  carry  the  camera,  another  the  box  with  the  plates, 
and  yet  a  third  bore  the  black  cloth  I  would  put  over 
my  head  to  focus  my  pictures  properly.  It  was  not 
a  bit  of  good  protesting,  two  minutes  after  I  got  rid 


198  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

of  one  lot  of  followers,  another  took  their  place,  and 
as  everyone  had  to  be  paid,  apparently,  I  often 
thought,  for  the  pleasure  of  looking  at  me,  I 
resigned  myself  to  my  fate. 

Accompanied  by  all  the  idlers  and  children  in 
the  town  I  climbed  the  ramp  on  to  the  walls,  which 
are  in  perfect  order,  three  miles  round  and  on  the 
top  from  fifteen  feet  to  twenty  broad.  That  ramp 
must  have  been  always  steep,  the  last  thing  a 
Chinese  ever  thinks  about  is  comfort,  steep  almost 
as  the  walls  themselves,  and  everywhere  the  stones 
are  gone,  making  it  a  work  of  difficulty  to  climb  to 
the  top.  Tuan  helped  me  in  approved  Chinese 
fashion,  putting  his  hand  underneath  my  elbow,  and 
once  I  was  there  the  town  was  metamorphosed,  it 
was  again  the  romantic  city  I  had  seen  from  the 
plain  in  the  evening  light.  Now  the  early  morning 
sunlight,  with  all  the  promise  of  the  day  in  it,  fell 
upon  graceful  curved  Chinese  roofs  and  innumer- 
able trees,  dainty  with  the  delicate  vivid  verdure 
that  comes  in  the  spring  as  a  reward  to  a  country 
where  the  winter  has  been  long,  bitter,  and  iron- 
bound. 

The  walls  of  most  Chinese  cities  are  built  square, 
with  right  angles  at  the  four  corners,  but  in  at  least 
two  that  I  have  been  in,  T'ung  Chou  and  Pao  Ting 
Fu,  one  corner  is  built  out  in  a  bow.  I  rather 
admired  the  effect  at  first,  till  I  found  it  was  a  mark 
of  deepest  disgrace.  There  had  been  a  parricide 
committed  in  the  town.  When  such  a  terrible  thing 
occurs  a  corner  of  the  city  wall  must  be  pulled  down 
and  built  out ;  a  second  one,  another  corner  is 
pulled  down  and  built  out,  and  a  third  likewise ;  but 
the  fourth  time  such  a  crime  is  committed  in  the 


A  WALLED  CITY  199 

luckless  town  the  walls  must  be  razed  to  the  ground. 
But  such  a  disgrace  has  never  occurred  in  any  town 
in  the  annals  of  Chinese  history,  those  age-long 
annals  that  go  back  farther  than  any  other  nation's, 
for  if  a  town  should  be  so  unlucky  as  to  have 
harboured  four  such  criminals  within  its  walls  they 
generally  managed,  by  the  payment  of  a  sum  of 
money,  to  get  a  city  that  had  some  of  its  corners 
still  intact  to  take  the  disgrace  upon  itself. 

I  strongly  suspect  too,  that  it  is  only  when  the 
offender  is  in  high  places  that  his  crime  is  thus 
commemorated,  for  I  have  only  heard  of  these  two 
cases,  and  yet  as  short  a  while  ago  as  1912  there 
was  a  terrible  murder  in  Pao  Ting  Fu  that  shocked 
the  town.  It  appeared  there  was  an  idle  son,  who 
instead  of  working  for  his  family,  spent  all  his  time 
attending  to  his  cage  bird,  taking  it  out  for  walks, 
encouraging  it  to  sing,  hunting  the  graves  outside 
the  town  for  insects  for  it.  His  poor  old  mother 
sighed  over  his  uselessness. 

"  If  it  were  not  for  the  bird !  "  said  she. 

The  young  blood  in  China,  it  seems,  goes  to  the 
dogs  over  a  cage  bird,  a  lark  or  a  thrush,  as  the 
young  man  in  modern  Europe  comes  to  grief  over 
horse-racing,  so  we  see  that  human  nature  is  the 
same  all  the  world  over.  This  Chinese  mother 
brooded  over  her  boy's  wasted  life,  and  one  day  when 
he  was  out  she  opened  the  cage  door  and  the  bird 
flew  away. 

When  he  came  in  he  asked  for  the  bird  and  she 
said  nothing,  only  with  her  large,  sharp  knife  went 
on  shredding  up  the  vegetables  that  she  was  putting 
into  a  large  cauldron  of  boiling  water  for  supper. 
He  asked  again  for  the  bird.  Still  she  took  no 


200  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

notice,  and  he  seized  her  knife  and  slit  her  up  into 
small  pieces  and  put  her  into  the  cauldron.  He 
was  taken,  and  tried,  and  was  put  to  death  by  slicing 
into  a  thousand  pieces — yes,  even  in  modern  China 
— but  they  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  pull  down 
another  corner  of  the  city  wall.  Possibly  they  felt 
the  disgrace  of  a  bygone  age  was  enough  for  Pao 
Ting  Fu. 

The  corners  of  the  walls  of  Tsung  Hua  Chou 
were  as  they  were  first  built,  rectangular,  and  the 
watch-towers  at  those  corners  and  over  the  four 
gates  from  the  distance  looked  imposing,  all  that 
they  should  be,  but  close  at  hand  I  saw  that  they 
were  tumbling  into  ruins,  the  doors  were  fallen  off 
the  hinges,  the  window-frames  were  broken,  all  was 
desolate  and  empty. 

"  Once  the  soldier  she  watch  here,"  said  my  boy, 
whose  pronouns  were  always  somewhat  mixed 

"Why  not  now?  " 

"  No  soldier  here  now.  She  go  work  in  gold 
mine  ninety  li  away.  Gold  mine  belong  Plesident." 

Tuan  had  got  as  far  as  the  fact  that  a  President 
had  taken  the  place  of  the  Manchu  Emperor,  but  I 
wondered  very  much  whether  the  inhabitants  of 
Tsung  Hua  Chou  had.  I  meditated  on  my  way 
back  to  a  Missie's  inn  "  on  the  limitations  of  the 
practical  Chinese  mind  that  because  it  is  practical, 
I  suppose,  cannot  conceive  of  the  liberty,  equality, 
and  fraternity  that  a  Republic  denotes.  The  Presi- 
dent, to  the  humble  Chinese  in  the  street,  has  just 
taken  the  place  of  the  Emperor,  he  is  the  one  who 
rules  over  them,  his  soldiers  are  withdrawn.  That 
there  was  a  war  in  Mongolia,  a  rebellion  impending 
in  the  south,  were  items  of  news  that  had  not  reached 


NORTH-WEST   CORNER   OF    WALL,    PAO   TING    FU. 


A    COOLIE    IN   THE    STREET,    TSUNG    HUA    CHOU. 


A  WALLED  CITY  201 

the  man  in  the  street  in  Tsung  Hua  Chou  who,  feeling 
that  the  soldiers  must  be  put  to  some  use,  concluded 
they  were  working  in  the  President's  gold  mine 
ninety  li  away. 

A  foreigner  went  to  a  Chinese  tailor  the  other  day 
to  make  him  a  suit  of  clothes,  and  he  found  occasion 
to  complain  that  the  gentleman's  prices  had  gone 
up  considerably  since  he  employed  him  last.  The 
man  of  the  scissors  was  equal  to  the  occasion,  and 
explained  that,  since  "  revelations,"  so  many  Chinese 
had  taken  to  wearing  foreign  dress,  he  was  obliged 
to  charge  more. 

"  You  belong  revolution  ? "  asked  the  inquiring 
foreigner,  anxious  to  find  out  how  far  liberty, 
fraternity,  and  equality  had  penetrated. 

The  tailor  looked  at  him  more  in  sorrow  than  in 
scorn.  How  could  he  be  so  foolish. 

"  I  no  belong  revelation,"  he  explained  carefully, 
as  one  who  was  instructing  where  no  instruction 
should  have  been  necessary.  The  thing  was  self- 
evident,  "  I  belong  tailor  man." 

When  the  revolution  first  dawned  upon  the 
country  people  all  they  realised — when  they  realised 
anything  at  all — was  that  there  was  no  longer  an 
Emperor,  therefore  they  supposed  they  would  no 
longer  have  to  pay  taxes.  When  they  found  that 
Emperor  or  no  Emperor  taxes  were  still  required 
of  them,  they  just  put  the  President  in  the  Emperor's 
place.  I  strongly  suspect  that  if  the  greater  part 
of  the  inhabitants  of  my  walled  city  were  to  be 
questioned  as  to  the  revolution  they  would  reply  like 
the  tailor :  "  No  belong  revolution,  belong  Tsung 
Hua  Chou!" 

But  in  truth  the  civilisation  of  China  is  still  sq 


202  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

much  like  that  of  Babylon  and  Nineveh,  that  it  is 
best  for  the  poor  man,  if  he  can,  to  efface  himself. 
He  does  not  pray  for  rights  as  yet.  He  only  prays 
that  he  may  slip  through  life  unnoticed,  that  he  may 
not  come  in  contact  with  the  powers  that  rule  him, 
for  no  matter  who  is  right  or  who  is  wrong  bitter 
experience  has  taught  him  that  he  will  suffer. 

We  do  not  realise  that  sufficiently  in  the  West 
when  we  talk  of  China.  We  judge  her  by  our  own 
standards.  The  time  may  come  when  this  may  be 
a  right  way  of  judging,  but  it  has  not  come  yet. 
Rather  should  we  judge  as  they  judged  in  the  days 
of  the  old  Testament,  in  the  days  of  Nineveh  and 
Babylon,  when  the  proletariat,  the  slaves,  were  as 
naught  in  the  sight  of  God  or  man. 

A  man  told  me  how  in  the  summer  of  1912, 
travelling  in  the  interior,  he  came  to  a  small  city  in 
one  of  the  central  provinces,  a  city  not  unlike  Tsung 
Hua  Chou,  like  indeed  a  thousand  other  little  cities 
in  this  realm  of  Cathay.  The  soldiers  quartered 
there  had  not  been  paid,  and  they  had  turned  to  and 
looted  the  town.  The  unwise  city  men,  instead  of 
submitting  lest  a  worse  thing  happen  unto  them,  had 
telegraphed  their  woes  to  Peking,  and  orders  had 
come  down  to  the  General  in  command  that  the  ring- 
leaders must  be  executed.  But  no  wise  General  is 
going  to  be  hard  on  his  own  soldiers.  This  General 
certainly  was  not.  Still  justice  had  to  be  satisfied, 
and  he  was  not  at  a  loss.  He  sent  a  body  of 
soldiers  to  the  looted  shops,  where  certain  luckless 
men  were  sadly  turning  over  the  damaged  property. 
These  they  promptly  arrested.  The  English  on- 
looker, who  spoke  Chinese,  declared  to  me  solemnly 
these  arrested  men  were  the  merchants  themselves, 


A  WALLED  CITY  203 

their  helpers  and  coolies.  That  was  nothing  to  the 
savage  soldiery.  There  had  to  be  victims.  Had 
not  the  order  come  from  the  central  government. 
Some  of  the  men,  there  were  twenty  in  all,  they  beat 
and  left  dead  on  the  spot,  the  rest  they  dragged  to 
the  yamen.  The  traveller,  furious  and  helpless, 
followed.  Of  course  the  guilt  of  the  merchants  was 
a  foregone  conclusion.  They  never  execute  anyone 
who  does  not  confess  his  guilt  and  the  justice  of  his 
sentence  in  China,  but  they  have  means  of  making 
sure  of  the  confession.  Presently  out  the  unfor- 
tunate men  came  again,  stripped  to  the  waist,  with 
their  arms  tied  up  high  behind  them,  prepared,  in 
fact,  for  death.  The  soldiers  dragged  them  along, 
they  protesting  their  innocence  to  unheeding  ears. 
Their  women  and  children  came  out,  running 
alongside  the  mournful  procession,  clinging  to  the 
soldiers  and  to  their  husbands  and  fathers,  and 
praying  for  mercy.  They  tripped  and  fell,  and  the 
soldiers,  the  soldiers  in  khaki,  pushed  them  aside, 
and  stepped  over  them,  and  dragged  on  their 
victims.  The  traveller  followed.  No  one  took 
any  notice  of  him,  and  what  could  he  do,  though  his 
heart  was  sore,  one  against  so  many.  Through 
the  narrow,  filthy  streets  they  went,  past  their  own 
looted  shops.  They  looked  about  them  wildly,  but 
there  was  none  to  help,  and  before  them  marched 
the  executioner,  with  a  great  sharp  sword  in  his 
hands,  and  always  the  soldiers  in  modern  uniform 
emphasised  the  barbarity  of  the  crime.  Presently 
they  had  distanced  the  wailing  women  and  were 
outside  the  walls,  but  the  foreign  onlooker  was  still 
with  them. 

"  And  one  was  a  boy  not  twenty,"  he  said  with 


204  A  WOMAN   IN  CHINA 

a  sharp,  indrawn  breath,  wiping  his  face  as  he  told 
the  ghastly  tale. 

They  knelt  in  a  row,  just  where  the  walls  of 
their  own  town  frowned  down  on  them,  and  one  by 
one  the  executioner  cut  off  their  heads.  The  death 
of  the  first  in  the  line  was  swift  enough,  but,  as  he 
approached  the  end  of  the  row  the  man's  arm  grew 
tired  and  he  did  not  get  the  last  two  heads  right  off. 

"  I  saw  one  jump  four  times,"  said  the  shocked 
onlooker,  "  before  he  died." 

And  then  they  telegraphed  to  Peking  that  order 
had  been  restored,  and  the  ringleaders  executed. 

Since  I  heard  that  man's  story,  I  always  read  that 
order  has  been  restored  in  any  Chinese  city  with  a 
shudder,  and  wonder  how  many  innocents  have 
suffered.  For  I  have  heard  stories  like  that,  not  of 
one  city,  or  told  by  one  man,  but  of  various  cities, 
and  told  by  different  men.  The  Chinese,  it  seems 
to  me,  copy  very  faithfully  the  European  news- 
papers, the  great  papers  of  the  Western  world. 
Horrors  like  that  are  never  read  in  a  Western  paper, 
therefore  you  never  see  such  things  reported  in  the 
Chinese  papers.  After  all  they  are  only  the  prole- 
tariat, the  slaves  of  Babylon  or  Nineveh.  Who 
counted  a  score  or  so  of  them  slain?  Order  has 
been  restored,  comes  the  message  for  the  benefit  of 
the  modern  world,  and  in  the  little  city  the  bloody 
heads  adorn  the  walls  and  the  bodies  lie  outside  to 
be  torn  to  pieces  by  the  wonks  and  the  vultures. 

And  when  I  heard  tales  like  this,  I  wondered 
whether  it  was  safe  for  a  woman  to  be  travelling 
alone.  It  is  safe,  of  course,  for  the  Chinaman, 
strange  as  it  may  sound  after  telling  such  tales, 
is  at  bottom  more  law-abiding  than  the  average 


A  WALLED  CITY  205 

European.  True,  he  is  more  likely  to  insult  or  rob 
a  woman  than  a  man,  because  he  has  for  so  long1 
regarded  a  woman  as  of  so  much  less  consequence 
than  a  man,  that  when  he  considers  the  matter  he 
cannot  really  believe  that  any  nation  could  hold  a 
different  opinion.  Still,  in  all  probability,  she  will 
be  safe,  just  as  in  all  probability  she  might  march 
by  herself  from  Land's  End  to  John  o'  Groats 
without  being  molested.  She  may  be  robbed  and 
murdered,  and  so  she  may  be  robbed  and  murdered 
in  China.  The  Chinese  are  robbed  and  murdered 
often  enough  themselves  poor  things.  Also  they 
do  not  surfer  in  silence.  They  revenge  themselves 
when  they  can. 

A  man  travelling  for  the  British  and  American 
Tobacco  Company,  he  was  a  young  man,  not  yet 
eight-and-twenty,  told  me  how,  once,  outside  a 
small  walled  town,  Ke  came  upon  a  howling  mob, 
and  parting  them  after  the  lordly  fashion  of  the 
Englishman,  who  knows  he  can  use  his  hands,  he 
saw  they  were  crowding  round  a  pit  half  filled  with 
quicklime.  In  it,  buried  to  his  middle,  was  a 
ghastly  creature  with  his  eyes  scooped  out,  and  the 
hollows  filled  up  with  quicklime. 

"  If  I  had  had  a  pistol  handy,"  said  the  teller  of 
the  tale,  "  I  would  have  shot  him.  I  couldn't  have 
helped  myself.  It  seemed  the  only  thing  to  put  him 
out  of  his  misery,  but,  after  all,  I  think  he  was  past 
all  feeling,  and  I  wonder  what  the  people  would 
have  done  to  me !  " 

They  told  him,  when  he  investigated,  that  this 
man  was  a  robber,  that  he  had  robbed  and  murdered 
without  mercy,  and  so,  when  he  fell  into  their 
hands,  they  had  taken  vengeance. 


206  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

Was  that  Babylon,  or  Nineveh,  I  wondered? 
Since  such  things  happen  in  China  one  feels  that 
the  age  of  Babylon  and  Nineveh  has  not  yet  gone 
by.  Talk  with  but  a  few  men  who  have  wandered 
into  the  interior,  and  you  realise  the  strong  necessity 
for  these  walled  towns. 

When  the  rumour  of  the  slaughter  of  the 
Manchus,  and  the  killing  in  the  confusion  of  eight 
Europeans  at  Hsi  An  Fu  in  Shensi  in  October 
1911,  reached  Peking,  nine  young  men  banded 
themselves  together  into  the  Shensi  Relief  Force, 
and  set  out  from  the  capital  to  relieve  the  mission- 
aries cut  off  there.  One  of  these  young  men  it  was 
my  good  fortune  to  meet,  and  the  story  of  their 
doings,  told  at  first  hand,  unrolled  for  me  the  leaves 
of  history.  They  set  out  to  help  the  men  and 
women  of  their  own  colour,  but  as  they  passed  west 
from  Tai  Yuan  Fu,  again  and  again,  the  people  of 
the  country  appealed  to  them  to  stop  and  help  them. 
The  Elder  Brother  Society,  the  Ko  Lao  Hui  were 
on  the  warpath,  and,  with  whatever  good  intentions 
this  society  had  originated,  it  was,  on  this  way  from 
Tai  Yuan  Fu  to  Hsi  An  Fu,  nothing  less  than  a  band 
of  robbers,  pillaging  and  murdering,  and  even  the 
walled  cities  were  hardly  a  safeguard.  Village  after 
village,  with  no  such  defences,  was  wrecked,  burned, 
and  destroyed,  and  their  inhabitants  were  either  slain 
or  refugees  in  the  mountains.  And  the  suffering 
that  means,  with  the  bitter  winter  of  China  ahead  of 
them,  is  ghastly  to  think  of.  They  died,  of  course, 
and  those  who  were  slain  by  the  robbers  probably 
suffered  the  least. 

"What  could  we  do?  What  could  we  possibly 
do?"  asked  my  informant  pitifully. 


A  WALLED  CITY  207 

At  last  they  came  to  Sui  Te  Chou,  a  walled  city, 
and  Sui  Te  Chou  was  for  the  moment  triumphant. 
It  had  driven  off  the  robbers.  The  Elder  Brother 
Society  had  held  the  little  city  closely  invested. 
They  had  built  stone  towers,  and,  from  the  top  of 
them,  had  fired  into  the  city,  and  at  the  defenders 
on  the  walls,  and,  under  cover  of  this  fire  from  the 
towers,  they  had  attempted  to  scale  the  battlements. 
But  the  people  on  the  walls  had  pushed  them  down 
with  long  spears,  and  had  poured  boiling  water 
upon  them,  and,  finally,  the  robbers  had  given  way, 
and  some  braves,  issuing  from  the  south  gate  had 
fallen  upon  them,  killing  many  and  capturing  thirty 
of  them.  It  was  a  short  shrift  for  them,  and  a 
festoon  of  heads  adorned  the  gateway  under  which 
the  foreigners  passed. 

But,  though  victorious,  the  braves  of  Sui  Te  Chou 
knew  right  well  that  the  lull  was  only  momentary. 
They  were  reversing  tEe  Scriptural  order  of  things, 
and  beating  their  ploughshares  into  swords.  The 
brigands  would  be  back  as  soon  as  they  had  rein- 
forcements, the  battle  would  be  to  the  strong  and  it 
would  indeed  be  "  Woe  to  the  Vanquished ! " 

"We  could  not  help  them.  We  could  not," 
reiterated  the  teller  of  the  tale  sadly ;  "  we  just  had 
to  go  on." 

It  was  old  China,  he  said,  let  us  hope  the  last  of 
old  China.  In  that  town  were  English  missionaries, 
a  man  and  his  wife,  another  man  and  two  little 
children,  members  of  the  English  Baptist  Church, 
dressed  in  Chinese  dress,  the  men  with  queues. 
These  they  rescued,  and  took  along  with  them,  and 
glad  were  they  to  have  two  more  able-bodied  men 
in  the  party,  even  though  they  were  counterbalanced 


208  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

by  the  presence  of  the  woman  and  two  children,  fof 
everywhere  along  the  track  were  evidences  of  the 
barbaric  times  in  which  they  lived.  Human  heads 
in  wicker  cages  were  common  objects  of  the  way- 
side, and  the  wolves  came  down  from  the  mountains 
and  gnawed  at  the  dead  bodies,  or  attacked  the  sick 
and  wounded.  Old  China  was  a  ghastly  place  that 
autumn  of  1911,  during  the  "bloodless"  revolution. 
Chung  Pu  they  reached  immediately  after  it  had 
been  attacked  by  six  hundred  men. 

"I  had  to  kick  a  dog  away  that  was  gnawing  at 
a  dead  body  as  we  led  the  lady  into  a  house  for 
the  night,"  said  the  narrator.  "  I  could  only  implore 
her  not  to  look." 

But  at   I   Chun  things  were   worse  still.     They 
reached  it  just  as  it  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the 
Elder  Brother  Society,  and  they  began  to  think  they 
had  taken  those  missionaries  out  of  the  frying-pan 
into  the  fire.     I  Chiin  is  a  walled  city  up  in   the 
mountains  of  Shensi,  and  the  only  approach  was  by 
a  pathway  so  narrow  that  it  only  allowed  of  one  mule 
litter  at  a  time.     On  one  side  was  a  steep  precipice, 
on  the  other  the  city  wall,  and  along  that  wall  came 
racing  men    armed    with    matchlocks,    spears,    and 
swords,  yelling  defiance  and  prepared,  apparently, 
to  attack.     The  worst  of  it  was  there  was  no  turning 
that  litter  round.     They  halted,  and  the  gate  ahead 
of  them  opened,  and  right  in  the  centre  of  the  gate- 
way was  an   ancient  cannon  with   a  man  standing 
beside  it  with  a  lighted  rope  in  his  hand.     Turn  the 
litter   and    get   away  in    a   hurry    they    could    not. 
Leave  it  they  could  not.     There  was  seemingly  no 
escape   for    them.     It    only   wanted   one    of   those 
excited  men  to   shout  "Ta,   Ta,"   and  the  match 


A  WALLED  CITY  209 

would  have  been  applied,  and  the  ancient  gun  would 
have  swept  the  pathway.  Then  the  leader  of  the 
band  of  foreigners  stepped  forward.  He  flung  away 
his  rifle,  he  flung  away  his  revolver,  he  flung  away 
his  knife,  and  he  stood  there  before  them  defence- 
less, with  his  arms  raised — modern  civilisation 
bowing  for  the  moment  before  the  force  of  Babylon. 
It  was  a  moment  of  supreme  anxiety.  Suppose 
the  people  misunderstood  his  actions. 

"We  scarcely  dared  breathe,"  said  the  story- 
teller. Every  heart  stood  still.  And  then  they 
understood.  The  man  with  the  lighted  rope 
dropped  it,  and  they  beckoned  to  the  strangers  to 
come  inside  the  gates. 

It  required  a  good  deal  of  courage  to  go  inside 
those  gates,  to  put  themselves  in  the  power  of  the 
Elder  Brother  Society,  and  they  spent  an  anxious 
night.  The  town  had  been  sacked,  the  streets  ran 
blood,  the  men  were  slain,  their  bodies  were  in  the 
streets  for  the  crows  and  the  wonks  to  feed  on,  and 
the  women — well  women  never  count  for  much  in 
China  in  times  of  peace,  and  in  war  they  are  the 
spoil  of  the  victor — the  Goddess  of  Mercy  was 
forgotten  those  days  in  I  Chiin.  All  night  long  the 
anxious  little  party  kept  watch  and  ward,  and  when 
day  dawned  were  thankful  to  be  allowed  to  proceed 
on  their  way  unmolested,  eventually  reaching  Hsi 
An  Fu  and  rescuing  all  the  missionaries  who  wished 
to  be  rescued. 

"  It  was  exciting,"  said  my  friend,  half  apologising 
for  getting  excited  over  it.  "  It  was  the  last  of  old 
China.  Such  things  will  never  happen  again." 

Exciting!  it  thrilled  me  to  hear  him  talk,  to  know 
such  things  had  happened  barely  a  year  before,  to 

o 


210  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

know  they  had  happened  in  this  country.  Would 
they  never  happen  again  ?  I  was  not  so  sure  of  that 
as  I  went  through  walled  town  after  walled  town, 
as  I  looked  up  at  the  walls  of  Tsung  Hua  Chou. 
This  was  the  correct  setting.  To  talk  in  friendly, 
commonplace  fashion  to  people  who  lived  in  such 
towns  seemed  to  annihilate  time,  to  bring  the  past 
nearer  to  me,  to  make  me  understand,  as  I  had 
never  understood  before,  that  the  people  who  had 
lived,  and  suffered,  and  triumphed,  or  lived,  and 
suffered,  and  fallen,  were  almost  exactly  the  same 
flesh  and  blood  as  I  was  myself. 

Back  at  the  inn  my  friend  the  landlady  brought 
me  her  little  grandson  to  admire.  He  was  a  jolly 
little  unwashed  chap  with  a  shaven  head,  clad  in  an 
unwashed  shift,  and  I  think  I  admired  him  to  her 
heart's  content.  It  was  evidently  worth  having  been 
born  and  lived  all  the  strenuous  weary  days  of  her 
hard  life  to  have  had  part  in  the  bringing  into  the 
world  of  that  grandson.  His  little  sister  in  the  blue- 
cornered  handkerchief,  looking  on,  did  not  count 
for  much,  and  yet  she  had  her  own  feelings,  for 
when  I  clambered  into  my  cart  and  was  just 
rumbling  over  the  step  I  was  startled  by  a  terrified 
childish  outcry.  Looking  back,  I  saw  that  a  little 
serving-maid,  a  slave  probably,  was  running  after 
my  cart  with  the  small  son  and  heir  in  her  arms, 
making  believe  to  give  away  the  household  treasure 
to  the  foreign  woman,  with  grandmother  and  subor- 
dinates looking  smilingly  on.  Only  the  little 
sister,  who  was  not  in  the  secret,  was  shrieking 
lustily  in  protest. 

I  had  been  thinking  of  the  cities  in  the  plain  of 
Mesopotamia!  And  this  carried  me  back  to  the 


A  WALLED  CITY  211 

days  of  my  own  childhood  and  the  hills  round 
Ballarat!  Many  and  many  a  time  in  my  young 
days  have  I  seen  the  household  baby  offered  to  the 
"vegetable  John,"  and  the  small  brothers  and  sisters 
shrieking  a  terrified  protest.  "  They  would  be 
good,  and  love  baby,  and  never  be  cross  with  him 
any  more."  Here  was  I  taking  the  place  of  the 
smiling,  bland,  John  Chinaman  of  my  childhood. 
After  all  human  nature  is  much  the  same  all  the 
world  over,  on  the  sunny  hills  of  Ballarat,  or  in  a 
walled  city  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains  in  Northern 
China.  If  we  could  but  bridge  the  gulf  that  lies 
between,  I  expect  we  should  have  found  it  just 
exactly  the  same  on  the  banks  of  the  Euphrates  and 
beneath  the  walls  of  Babylon. 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE    NlfrE    DRAGON    TEMPLE 

The  crossing  of  the  Lanho — A  dust  storm — Dangers  of  a  mew 
inin — Locked  in — Holy  mountain — Ruined  city — My  inter- 
preter— A  steep  hill — The  barren  woman — Unappetising  food 
— The  abbot — The  beggar — Burning  incense — The  beauty  of 
the  way. 

WE  were  fairly  in  the  mountains  when  we  left  Tsung 
Hua  Chou.  As  we  crawled  along  slowly,  and  I 
trust  with  dignity,  though  dignity  is  not  my  strong 
point,  I  looked  up  to  the  hills  that  towered  above  us, 
almost  perpendicular  they  seemed  in  places,  as  if 
the  slope  had  been  shorn  off  roughly  with  a  blunt 
knife,  and  I  saw  that  one  of  these  crags,  that  must 
have  been  about  a  thousand  feet  above  the  valley 
bottom,  anyhow  it  looked  it  in  the  afternoon  sun- 
light, was  crowned  by  buildings ;  and  not  feeling 
energetic,  nobody  does  feel  energetic  who  rides  for 
long  in  a  Peking  cart,  I  thanked  my  stars  that  I  had 
not  to  go  up  there.  I  thought  if  it  were  the  most 
beautiful  temple  in  the  world  I  would  not  go  up  that 
mountain  to  visit  it.  Which  only  shows  that  I  did 
not  reckon  on  my  Chinese  servant.  There  may  be 
people  who  can  cope  single-handed  with  the  will 
of  a  Chinaman.  I  can't.  I  know  now  that  if  my 
servant  expresses  a  desire  for  a  thing,  he  will  only 
ask,  of  course,  for  what  is  perfectly  correct  and  good 

212 


A  TEMPLE  SET  IN  THE  TREES. 
(See  page  307) 


CROSSING  THE   LANHO. 
(See  page  213) 


THE  NINE  DRAGON  TEMPLE     213 

for  his  Missie,  he  will  have  it  in  the  end,  so  it  is  no 
good  struggling ;  it  is  better  to  give  in  gracefully  at 
first. 

As  we  neared  a  river,  the  Lanho,  or  I  suppose  I 
should  say  the  Lan,  for  "  ho  "  means  a  river,  the 
clouds  began  to  gather  for  the  first  time  since  I  had 
set  out  on  my  journey,  and  it  seemed  as  if  it  were 
going  to  rain. 

"  Must  make  haste,"  said  Tuan  looking  up  at  the 
grey  sky  with  the  clouds  scurrying  across  it,  and 
making  haste  in  a  Peking  cart  is  a  painful  process. 

By  the  time  we  arrived  at  the  river-banks  it  was 
blowing  furiously,  and  a  good  part  of  the  country, 
as  always  seems  to  be  the  case  in  China  when  the 
wind  blows,  was  in  the  air.  The  river,  wide  and 
muddy  and  rather  shallow,  was  flowing  swiftly  along, 
and  the  crossing-place  was  just  where  the  valley  was 
widest,  and  there  was  a  large  extent  of  sand  on 
either  bank,  so  there  was  plenty  of  material  for  the 
wind  to  play  with.  It  used  it  as  if  it  had  never  had 
a  chance  before  and  was  bound  to  make  the  most 
of  it.  There  were  many  other  people  on  that  sandy 
beach,  there  were  other  Peking  carts,  there  were 
laden  country  carts  with  their  heavily  studded  wheels 
cut  out  of  one  piece  of  wood,  looking  like  the  wheels 
Mr  Reed  puts  on  his  prehistoric  carts  in  Punch, 
there  were  laden  donkeys  and  mules,  there  were  all 
the  blue-clad  people  in  charge  of  the  traffic,  and 
there  were  tiny  restaurants,  rough-looking  shacks 
where  the  refreshment  of  these  people  was  provided 
for.  They  weren't  refreshing  when  I  arrived,  the 
wind  was  blowing  things  away  piecemeal,  and  every 
man  seemed  to  be  grabbing  something  portable,  or 
putting  it  down  with  a  stone  upon  it  to  anchor  it. 


214  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

"  Must  make  haste,"  said  Tuan  again,  as  he  helped 
me  out  of  the  cart,  and  the  wind  got  under  my  coat, 
tore  at  my  veil,  and  succeeded  in  pulling  down  some 
of  my  hair. 

We  had  got  beyond  the  region  of  bridges,  I 
suppose  in  the  summer  the  floods  come  down  and 
sweep  them  away,  and  everybody  was  crossing  on  a 
wupan,  a  long,  shallow,  ffat-bottomed  boat  that  had 
been  decked  in  the  middle  to  allow  of  carts  being 
taken  across.  The  mules  were  taken  out,  and  the 
carts  with  the  help  of  every  available  man  about, 
except  the  fat  restaurant-keeper,  were  got  on  the 
boat. 

"  Must  make  haste,"  repeated  Tuan,  distributing 
with  a  liberal  hand  my  hard-earned  cents.  I  used  to 
think  a  cent  or  two  in  China  didn't  matter,  but  I 
know  by  bitter  experience  they  mount  up. 

And  then  just  as  we  were  all  ready,  my  leading 
mule,  a  fawn-coloured  animal  of  some  character, 
expressed  his  disapproval  of  the  mode  of  transit  by 
a  violent  kick,  and  broke  away.  The  dust  was 
blowing  in  heavy  clouds,  but  every  now  and  then  I 
could  see  through  the  veil  a  dozen  people  racing 
after  him,  while  he  kicked  up  his  heels  in  derision, 
and  in  a  fashion  of  which  I  should  not  have  thought 
any  beast  that  had  brought  a  Peking  cart  so  far 
over  such  roads  was  capable.  Then  a  brilliant 
idea  occurred  to  the  younger  "cartee  man."  He 
decided  to  mount  the  white  mule  that  led  the  other 
cart.  This  was  a  meek-looking  beast  who  I  pre- 
sume always  did  exactly  as  he  was  told ;  but  a  worm 
will  turn,  and  to  be  ridden  after  all  the  long  journey 
was  more  than  even  he  would  stand.  With  a  buck 
and  a  kick  he  got  rid  of  the  "cartee  man,"  and  then 


THE  NINE  DRAGON  TEMPLE     215 

there  were  two  mules  careering  about  in  the  wild  dust 
storm.  It  looked  highly  probable  that  they  would 
take  advantage  of  their  liberty  to  go  back  to  Peking, 
and  I  crossed  that  river  wondering  very  much  how 
I  was  to  get  any  farther  on  my  journey,  and  whether 
lost  mules  were  a  part  of  the  just  expenditure  expected 
of  a  foreign  woman.  After  about  two  hours,  how- 
ever, they  were  brought  in,  the  fawn-coloured  mule 
as  perky  as  ever,  but  the  white  one  so  depressed  by 
his  only  taste  of  freedom  that  he  never  recovered  as 
long  as  I  had  the  pleasure  of  his  acquaintance. 

Before  we  were  on  our  way  again  the  dust  storm 
had  subsided,  and  I  was  shaking  the  mountains,  or 
the  Gobi  Desert,  or  whatever  it  was,  out  of  the  folds 
of  my  clothes  and  out  of  my  hair  and  eyes,  and  Tuan 
was  once  more  urgent. 

"  Must  make  haste.55 

But  it  was  no  good,  we  had  lost  too  much  time,  we 
could  not  possibly  reach  the  little  town  we  had 
planned  to  reach,  and  before  the  sun  set  we  turned 
into  the  yard  of  a  little  hostelry  in  a  small  mountain 
hamlet  underneath  the  holy  mountain  that  was 
crowned  with  the  temple  I  had  been  looking  at  all 
the  afternoon. 

And  then  to  my  joy  I  found  that  this  place  was 
clean,  actually  clean!!  Two  notes  of  exclamation 
do  not  do  proper  justice  to  it.  The  yard  bore  little 
traces  of  occupation,  the  room  I  was  shown  into  had 
a  new  blue  calico  curtain  at  the  door,  it  was  freshly 
whitewashed,  a  clean  mat  was  on  the  k5ang,  the  wood 
that  edged  it  was  new,  and  there  was  clean  tissue 
paper  over  the  lattice-work  of  the  windows.  The 
floor,  of  course,  was  only  hard,  beaten  earth,  but 
that  did  not  matter.  I  would  sit  on  the  k'ang,  and 


216  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

besides  this  place  smelt  of  nothing  but  whitewash. 
I  rejoiced  exceedingly  as  I  had  the  paper  torn 
off  the  top  of  the  window  to  let  in  the  fresh 
air,  but  Tuan  looked  at  it  from  another  point  of 
view. 

"  Must  take  care,"  said  he,  "  this  new  inn.  '  Cartee 
man  '  no  know  she.  Must  take  care,"  and  he  looked 
so  grave  that  I  wondered  what  on  earth  was  the 
penalty  I  ran  the  risk  of  paying  for  cleanliness. 

They  evidently  were  afraid,  for  all  the  luggage, 
which  as  a  rule  stayed  strapped  on  the  carts  in  the 
inn  yard,  was  taken  off  and  brojught  in.  I  was 
worth  robbing,  for  I  had  about  seven-and-twenty 
pounds  in  dollars  in  my  black  box,  and  that,  judging 
by  what  I  saw,  would  have  bought  up  all  the 
villages  between  Jehol  and  Peking.  However,  it 
was  no  good  worrying  about  it,  however  agitated 
Tuan  might  be.  Besides,  anyhow  he  was  some- 
thing of  a  coward,  all  Chinese  servants  are,  it  seems 
to  me. 

His  fear  didn't  seem  to  last  very  long,  for  pres- 
ently he  came  bustling  in,  all  excitement. 

I  was  brushing  my  hair  to  try  and  get  some  of  the 
dust  out  of  it,  and  reflecting  there  was  possibly  some 
reason  in  so  many  Chinese  women  being  bald.  It 
must  be  much  easier  to  keep  a  hairless  head  free 
from  dust. 

"  Missie,  Missie,  innkeeper  man,  she  say  my 
Missie  come  in  good  time.  Nine  Dragon  Temple," 
he  pointed  upwards,  and  I  knew  with  a  sinking  heart 
he  meant  the  one  I  had  watched  all  day  and  decided 
that  to  it  I  would  not  go,  "open  one  time  for  ten 
day,  never  in  year  open  any  more,"  and  he  looked 
at  me  to  see  his  words  sink  in.  They  sank  in  right 


THE  NINE  DRAGON  TEMPLE     217 

enough.     I   knew   I  was   going   there,    but   still    I 
protested. 

"  I  cannot  walk  up  that  mountain." 
"  No  walk,  Missie  no  walk,  can  get  chair." 
Still  I  struggled.     "  It  will  cost  too  much  money." 
"  Three  dollars,  Missie,  can  do.     Not  spend  much 
monies,"  and  he  looked  at  me  as  much  as  to  say  I 
would  never  let  three  dollars,  about  six  shillings, 
stand  between  me  and  a  wonder  that  was  only  open 
for  ten  days   in  the  year,    especially  when   I   had 
arrived  on  the  auspicious  day. 

"  But  what  will  you  do,   Tuan,   I  really  cannot 
afford  a  chair  for  you,"  for  I  knew  my  follower  on 
every  occasion,  even  when   I  should  have  walked 
made  a  point  of  riding.     He  looked  at  me,  but  I 
suppose  he  saw  I  had  reached  the  limit  of  my  for- 
bearance.    His  chest  swelled  out  virtuously. 
"  I  strong  young  man,  I  walk." 
I  made  another  effort.     u  But  the  bottom  of  the 
mountain  is  a  good  way  off,  how  shall  I  get  there  ?  " 
"  I    talkee    '  cartee   man/   he    takee    Missie   two 
dollars." 

It  was  mounting  up.  I  knew  it  would. 
"  But  who  will  look  after  our  things  here  ?  " 
"One  piecey  'cartee  man'  stop,"  said  he  airily. 
So  it  was  all  arranged  and  I  was  booked  for  the 
Nine  Dragon  Temple  whether  I  liked  it  or  not. 
Then  there  was  the  night  to  consider  in  this  new  inn, 
the  safety  of  which  Tuan  had  doubted.  In  my  room 
were  all  my  possessions,  including  the  black  box 
with  the  money  in  it,  and  I  looked  at  the  door  and 
saw  to  my  dismay  that  there  was  no  fastening  on  the 
inside. 

"  I  take  care  Missie,"  said  Tuan  loftily,  and  then 


218  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

proceeded  to  instruct  me  in  the  precautions  he  had 
taken. 

"  Innkeeper  man  ask  how  long  Missie  stay  and  I 
say  pVaps  five  day,  p'r'aps  ten  day.  No  tell  true." 
No  tell  true  indeed,  lor  I  had  every  intention  of 
leaving  next  day  even  if  I  did  have  to  go  up  to  the 
mountain  temple  in  the  morning. 

Again  I  looked  at  the  rough  planks  of  the  door 
coming  down  to  the  earthen  floor,  and  decided  I 
would  draw  my  heavy  box  across  it,  and  I  said  so 
to  Tuan. 

But  he  was  emphatic,  "  I  take  care  Missie,"  I 
wonder  if  he  would  have  done  so  had  there  really 
been  any  danger.  Then  he  bid  me  good  night  and, 
going  outj  drew  the  door  to  after  him  and  proceeded 
to  lock  it  on  the  outside !  I  presume  he  put  the  key 
in  his  pocket.  Some  papers  have  honoured  me  by 
referring  to  me  as  a  "  distinguished  traveller,"  and  I 
have  had  hopes  of  being  elected  to  the  Royal 
Geographical  Society!  For  a  moment  I  thought  of 
calling  him  back  indignantly,  and  then  I  thought 
better  of  it.  "A  man  thinks  he  knows,"  says  the 
Chinese  proverb,  "  but  a  woman  knows  better." 

The  window  was  frail  and  all  across  the  room,  and 
I  knew  I  could  break  the  lattice-work  if  I  wanted  to, 
so  could  the  thief  for  that  matter,  so  I  slept  peace- 
fully, the  sleep  of  the  utterly  weary,  and  the  inn- 
keeper proved  an  honest  man  after  all. 

And  next  day,  after  breakfast,  just  as  the  sun  was 
rising,  I  started  for  the  Nine  Dragon  Temple,  The 
peak  which  it  crowned  stood  out  from  the  rest  like 
a  very  acute  triangle.  They  say  the  camera  cannot 
lie,  I  only  know  I  did  not  succeed  in  getting  a  photo- 
graph of  that  mountain  that  gave  any  idea  of  its 


THE  NINE  DRAGON  TEMPLE     219 

steepness.  Its  slopes,  faintly  tinged  with  green  and 
dotted  with  fir-trees,  fell  away  like  the  sides  of  a 
house  from  the  narrow  top  that  was  crowned  with 
buildings.  It  was  just  one  of  the  many  holy  moun- 
tains that  are  scattered  over  China^  and  it  seemed  to 
me,  looking  up,  that  nothing  but  a  bird  could  reach 
it.  But  still  I  had  to  try.  All  the  country  was 
bathed  in  the  golden  rays  of  the  sun  as  I  climbed 
into  the  cart,  and  we  made  our  way  through  a  ruined 
city  that  must  once  have  been  very  rich  and  pros- 
perous. Only  the  poorest  of  the  poor  apparently 
lived  among  the  ruins,  and  we  went  through  a  ruined 
gateway  where  no  man  watched  now,  and  over  half- 
tilled  fields,  to  the  supplementary  temple  at  the 
bottom  of  the  mountain. 

Here  Tuan  blossomed  forth  wonderfully.  Up 
till  now  he  had  only  been  my  servant,  a  most  impor- 
tant servant  but  still  a  servant,  now  he  became,  on 
a  sudden,  that  much  more  important  functionary,  my 
interpreter. 

A  solemn  old  gentleman  in  a  dark-coloured  robe 
with  a  shaven  head  received  me  with  that  perfect 
courtesy  which  it  is  my  experience  these  monks 
always  show,  escorted  me  into  a  large  room  with  a 
k'ang  on  one  side  and  a  figure  of  a  god,  large  and 
gorgeous,  facing  the  door.  He  asked  me  my  age, 
as  apparently  the  most  important  question  he  could 
ask — it  is  rather  an  important  factor  in  one's  life — 
and  then  when  I  was  seated  on  the  k'ang,  with  my 
interpreter,  in  his  very  best  clothes  of  silk  brocade, 
on  the  other,  a  variety  of  cakes  in  little  dishes  were 
set  on  the  k'ang  table  beside  me,  and  a  small  shaven- 
headed  little  boy  who  I  was  informed  was  called 
"  Trees  "  was  set  to  pour  out  tea  as  long  as  I  would 


220  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

drink  it.  I  was  so  amused  at  the  importance  of 
Tuan.  Not  for  worlds  would  I  have  given  him  away 
as  he  sat  there  sipping  tea  and  nibbling  at  a  piece 
of  cake  ;  and  I  wonder  still  what  he  thought  I  thought. 
Did  he  fear  I  should  call  him  to  account  for  sitting 
down  as  if  he  were  on  terms  of  equality  with  me? 
Did  he  think  I  was  a  fool,  or  was  he  properly  grate- 
ful that  I  allowed  him  this  little  latitude?  At  any 
rate,  except  in  the  matter  of  squeeze,  he  always 
served  me  very  well  indeed,  and  there  is  no  doubt 
my  dignity  was  enhanced  by  going  about  with  a  real, 
live  interpreter.  The  priest  could  not  know  what  a 
very  inadequate  one  he  was. 

Presently  they  came  and  announced  that  the  chair 
was  ready. 

"  Put  on  new  ropes,"  announced  my  interpreter 
pointing  out  the  lashings  to  me.  The  chair  was 
fastened  to  a  couple  of  stout  poles  and  four  coolies, 
they  might  have  been  own  brothers  to  the  ones  I 
had  at  the  Ming  Tombs,  lifted  it  to  their  shoulders 
and  we  were  off.  All  the  people  who  dwelt  in  the 
little  hamlet  that  clustered  round  the  temple  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountain,  hoary-headed  old  men,  little, 
naked  children,  small-footed  women,  peeped  out 
and  looked  at  the  foreign  woman  as  she  passed  on 
her  pilgrimage  up  the  steep  and  narrow  pathway, 
the  first  foreigner  that  had  passed  up  this  way  for 
some  years,  and  probably  the  only  one  who  would 
pass  up  this  year.  It  took  a  good  many  people  to 
get  me  up,  I  noticed,  it  wouldn't  have  been  Tuan  if 
it  hadn't.  There  was  his  all-important  self  of  course, 
there  was  a  man  carrying  my  camera,  another  one 
carrying  my  umbrella  and  a  bundle  of  incense  sticks, 
there  were  various  minor  hangers-on  in  the  shape  of 


THE  NINE  DRAGON  TEMPLE     221 

small  boys,  and  there  were,  of  course,  my  four  chair 
coolies. 

A  Chinese  chair  is  a  most  uncomfortable  thing 
anyway,  and  this  had  exaggerated  the  faults  of  its 
kind.  Always  it  is  so  built  that  there  is  not  seat 
enough,  while  the  back  seems  specially  arranged  to 
pitch  the  unlucky  occupant  forward.  It  is  bad  enough 
in  the  ordinary  way — going  up  a  mountain,  and  a 
very  steep  mountain,  it  is  anathema,  and  coming 
down  it  is  beyond  words.  And  this  mountain  was 
steep,  its  looks  had  not  belied  it ;  never  have  I  gone 
up  such  a  steep  place  before,  never,  I  devoutly  hope, 
shall  I  go  up  such  a  steep  place  again.  The  moun- 
tain fell  away,  and  I  looked  out  into  space  on  either 
side.  I  could  see  hills,  of  course,  away  in  the  far 
distance,  with  a  greaT  gulf  between  me  and  them, 
rounded,  treeless  hills  with  just  a  faint  touch  of  green 
upon  them,  and  the  trees  on  my  own  mountain,  firs 
and  pines  with  an  occasional  poplar,  green  and  fresh 
with  the  tender  green  of  Maytime,  stood  up  at  an 
acute  angle  with  the  hill-side  above,  and  an  obtuse 
angle  below.  The  air  was  fresh,  and  keen,  and  in- 
vigorating, and  in  the  green  grass  grew  bulbs  like 
purple  crocuses,  wild  jessamine  sweetly  scented,  and 
delicate  blue  wild  hyacinths,  that  in  Staffordshire 
they  call  blue  bells.  I  remember  once  in  a  delight- 
ful wood  in  the  Duke  of  Sutherland's  grounds  near 
Stoke-on-Trent,  that  most  sordid  town  of  the  Black 
Country,  seeing  the  ground  there  carpeted  with  just 
such  blossoms  as  I  saw  here  on  the  holy  mountain 
in  China. 

Up  we  went  and  up.  There  were  stone  steps  put 
together  without  mortar,  all  the  way,  and  there  were 
platforms  every  here  and  there,  where  the  weary 


222  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

might  rest,  and  because  the  hill  was  so  steep,  these 
platforms  were  generally  made  by  piling  up  stones 
that  looked  as  if  a  touch  would  send  them  rolling  to 
the  bottom  of  the  mountain,  a  step  and  one  would 
be  over  oneself,  for  there  were  no  barriers.  It  was 
twelve  li,  four  miles  up,  and  the  way  was  broken  by 
smaller  temples  dedicated  to  various  gods,  among 
them  one  to  the  goddess  who  takes  pity  on  barren 
women.  This  one  was  half-way  up  the  mountain, 
and  here  we  met  a  small-footed  woman  toiling  along 
with  the  aid  of  a  stick.  Half-way  up  that  cruel 
mountain  she  had  crawled  on  her  aching  feet,  and 
every  day  she  would  come  up,  she  told  us,  to  burn 
incense  at  the  shrine.  And  she  looked  old,  old.  It 
would  be  a  miracle  indeed,  I  thought,  if  she  bore 
that  longed-for  child.  Hope  must  be  dying  very 
hard  indeed.  And  yet  she  must  have  known.  Poor 
thing,  poor  weary  woman,  what  was  the  tragedy  of 
her  life?  Children,  one  would  think,  were  a  drug 
in  the  market  in  China,  they  swarm  everywhere.  I 
burned  an  incense  stick  for  her  and  could  only  hope 
the  God  of  Pity  would  answer  her  prayer,  and  take 
away  her  reproach  before  men. 

Up  and  up  and  up,  and  so  steep  it  grew  I  was 
fain  to  shut  my  eyes  else  the  sensation  that  I  would 
fall  off  into  space  would  have  been  too  much  for  me. 
From  the  doorways  of  the  wayside  temples  we  passed 
through  we  looked  into  space,  and  the  mountains  at 
the  other  side  of  the  valley  seemed  farther  away  than 
ever.  A  cuckoo  called  and  called  again  "  Cuckoo ! 
Cuckoo !  "  As  we  waited  once  a  coolie  passed  with 
a  bamboo  across  his  shoulder  from  which  were  slung 
two  very  modern  kerosene  tins — Babylon  and 
America  meeting — and  they  told  me  there  was  no 


THE  NINE  DRAGON  TEMPLE      223 

water  on  the  mountain,  every  drop  had  to  be  carried 
up;  and  then  the  men  took  up  the  poles  on  their 
shoulders  and  tramped  on  again,  and  every  time 
they  changed  the  pole  from  one  shoulder  to  the 
other  I  felt  I  would  surely  fall  off  into  the  valley, 
miles  below.  Up  and  up  and  up,  they  were  stream- 
ing with  perspiration,  and  at  last  when  it  seemed  to 
me  we  had  arrived  at  the  highest  point  of  the  world, 
and  that  it  was  very  like  a  needle-point,  they  set 
down  my  chair  at  the  bottom  of  the  flight  of  steps 
that  led  up  to  the  entrance  to  the  main  temple,  and 
the  abbot  and  a  crowd  of  monks  stood  at  the  top  to 
greet  me. 

They  swarmed  everywhere,  it  was  impossible  to 
estimate  their  numbers,  young  men  and  old,  all  with 
shaven  heads  and  dark,  rusty  red  robes,  and  then 
others,  blind,  and  halt,  and  maimed,  evidently  pen- 
sioners on  their  bounty.  It  seemed  to  me  it  could 
hardly  be  worth  while  to  climb  up  so  steep  a  place 
for  the  small  dole  that  was  all  the  monks  had  it  in 
their  power  to  give.  It  must  have  been  so  little,  so 
little.  They  showed  me  the  shrine,  a  poor  little 
shrine  to  one  who  had  seen  the  wonders  of  the  Lama 
Temple  in  Peking.  I  took  a  picture  of  the  abbot 
standing  in  front  of  it,  and  they  showed  me  their 
kitchen  premises,  where  were  great  jars  of  vegetables 
salted  and  in  pickle,  and  looking  most  unappetising, 
but  that  apparently,  with  millet  porridge,  was  all 
they  had  to  live  on. 

It  was  crowded,  it  was  dirty,  it  was  shabby,  but 
there  were  great  stone  pillars,  eighteen  of  them,  that 
they  told  me  had  been  brought  from  a  great  distance 
south  of  Peking,  and  had  been  carried  up  the  moun- 
tain in  the  days  of  the  Mings,  long  before  there  were 


224  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

the  steps,  which  were  only  put  there  a  little  over  a 
hundred  years  ago — quite  recently  for  China.  How 
they  could  possibly  get  them  up  even  now  that  there 
are  four  miles  of  steep  stone  steps  I  cannot  possibly 
imagine.  Babylon !  Babylon ! !  I  shut  my  eyes 
and  saw  the  toiling  slaves,  heard  the  crack  of  the 
taskmaster's  whip,  and  the  hopeless  moan  of  the  man 
who  sank,  crushed  and  broken,  beneath  the  burden. 

The  abbot  bowed  himself  courteously  over  a  gift 
of  thirty  cents  which  Tuan,  and  I  am  sure  he  would 
not  have  understated  it,  said  was  the  proper  cum- 
sHftw,  and  I  bade  them  farewell  and  turned  to  go 
down  that  hill  again.  The  thought  of  it  was  heavy 
on  my  soul.  Outside  was  a  beggar,  men  are  close 
to  starvation  in  China.  The  wretched,  forlorn 
creature,  with  wild  hair  and  his  nakedness  hidden 
by  the  most  disgusting  rags,  had  followed  my  train 
up  all  those  four  steep  miles  in  the  hope  of  a  small 
gift.  For  five  cents  he  too  bowed  himself  in  deepest 
gratitude.  It  was  a  gift  I  was  ashamed  of,  but  the 
important  interpreter  considered  he  had  the  right  to 
regulate  these  things,  and  he  certainly  led  me  care- 
fully on  all  other  occasions.  Then  I  looked  at  my 
chair  and  I  looked  at  the  steep  steps  down  which  we 
must  go.  How  could  I  possibly  manage  it  without 
getting  giddy  and  pitching  right  forward,  for  going 
down  would  be  much  worse  than  coming  up  had 
been.  And  then  the  men  showed  me  that  I  must  get 
in  and  be  carried  down  backwards. 

Would  they  slip?  I  could  but  trust  not.  I  was 
alone  and  helpless,  days,  and  they  must  have  known 
it,  from  any  of  my  own  people.  They  might  easily 
have  held  me  up  and  demanded  more  than  the  three 
dollars  for  which  they  had  contracted,  but  they  did 


THE  NINE  DRAGON  TEMPLE     225 

not.  Patient,  uncomplaining,  as  the  Babylonish 
slaves  to  whom  I  had  compared  them,  they  carried 
me  steadily  and  carefully  from  temple  to  temple  all 
the  way  down,  and  at  every  altar  we  stopped  I  sat 
and  looked  on,  and  Tuan  burned  incense  sticks,  the 
officiating  priest,  he  was  very  poor,  dirty  and  shabby, 
struck  a  melodious  gong  as  the  act  of  adoration  was 
accomplished  and  Tuan,  in  all  his  best  clothes,  knelt 
and  knocked  his  head  on  the  ground.  I  wondered 
whether  I,  too,  was  not  acquiring  merit,  for  my 
money  had  bought  the  incense  sticks,  and  my  money, 
it  was  only  a  trifling  ten  cents,  paid  the  wild-looking 
individual,  with  torn  coat  and  unshaven  head,  who 
carried  them  up  the  mountain. 

Oh,  but  I  had  something — something  that  I 
cannot  put  into  words — for  my  pains ;  the  something 
that  made  the  men  of  five  hundred  years  before  build 
the  temple  on  the  mountain  top  to  the  glory  of  God, 
my  God  and  their  God,  by  whatever  Name  you 
choose  to  call  Him.  It  was  good  to  sit  there  looking 
away  at  the  distant  vista,  at  the  golden  sunlight  on 
the  trees  and  grass2  at  the  shadows  that  were  creep- 
ing in  between,  to  smell  the  sensuous  smell  of  the 
jessamine,  and  if  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  all  I 
had  lost  in  life,  of  the  fate  that  had  sent  me  here  to 
the  Nine  Dragon  Temple,  at  least  I  could  count 
among  my  gains  the  beauty  that  lay  before  my  eyes. 

And  when  I  reached  the  bottom  of  the  mountain 
in  safety,  I  felt  I  had  gained  merit,  for  the  men  who 
had  carried  me  so  carefully  were  wild  with  gratitude, 
and  evidently  called  down  blessings  upon  my  head, 
because  I  gave  them  an  extra  dollar.  It  pleased 
me,  and  yet  saddened  me,  because  it  seemed  an 
awful  thing  that  twenty-five  cents  apiece,  sixpence 

p 


226  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

each,  should  mean  so  much  to  any  man.  Their 
legs  ached,  they  said.  Poor  things,  poor  things. 
Many  legs  ache  in  China,  and  I  am  afraid  more  often 
than  not  there  is  no  one  to  supply  a  salve. 

So  we  came  back  to  the  little  mountain  inn  in  the 
glorious  afternoon,  and  the  people  looked  on  us  as 
those  who  had  made  a  pilgrimage,  and  Tuan  climbed 
a  little  way  down  from  his  high  estate.  He  set 
about  getting  me  a  meal,  the  eternal  chicken,  and 
rice,  and  stewed  pear,  and  I  looked  back  at  the 
mountain  I  had  climbed  and  wondered,  and  was 
glad,  as  I  am  often  glad,  that  I  had  done  a  thing  I 
need  never  do  again. 

Was  there  merit?  For  Tuan,  let  us  hope,  even 
though  I  did  pay  for  the  incense  sticks,  for  me,  well 
I  don't  know.  On  the  mountain  I  was  uplifted, 
here  in  the  valley  I  only  knew  that  the  view  from 
the  high  peak,  the  vista  of  hill  and  valley,  the  green- 
ness of  the  fresh  grass  on  the  rounded,  treeless  hills, 
and  the  greenness  of  the  springing  crops  in  the 
valley,  the  golden  sunshine  and  the  glorious  blue 
sky  of  Northern  China,  the  sky  that  is  translucent 
and  far  away,  was  something  well  worth  remember- 
ing. Truly  it  sometimes  seems  that  all  things  that 
are  worth  doing  are  hard  to  do. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

IN    THE    HEART     OF    THE    MOUNTAINS 

Etiquette  of  the  Chinese  cart — Ruined  city— The  building  of  the 
wall— The  advice  of  a  mule — A  catastrophe — The  failing  of 
the  Peking  cart — Beautiful  scenery — Industrious  people — 
The  posters  of  the  mountains — Inn  yards — The  heads  of  the 
people — Mountain  dogs — Wolves — A  slum  people — Artistic 
hands— "  Cavalry  "—The  last  pass. 

AND  now  we  were  on  the  very  borders  of  China 
proper.  The  road  was  simply  awful,  very  often 
just  following  the  path  of  a  mountain  torrent. 
Always  my  cart  went  first,  and  however  convenient 
it  sometimes  seemed  for  the  other  cart  to  take  first 
place,  it  never  did  so.  Suppose  we  turned  down  a 
narrow  path  between  high  banks  and  found  we  were 
wrong  and  had  to  go  back,  the  second  cart  would 
make  the  most  desperate  effort  and  get  up  the 
bank  rather  than  go  before  me.  Such  is  Chinese 
etiquette,  and  like  most  rules  and  customs  when  one 
inquires  into  the  reason  of  them,  there  is  some 
sense  at  the  bottom  of  it.  A  Chinese  road  is  as  a 
rule  terribly  dusty  and  the  second  cart  gets  full 
benefit  of  all  the  dust  stirred  up. 

The  day  after  we  had  been  to  the  Nine  Dragon 
Temple  we  passed  through  the  Great  Wall  at  Hsing 
Feng  K'ou,  another  little  walled  city.  We  had 
spent  the  night  just  outside  the  ruined  wall  of  an  old 
city,  a  city  that  was  nearly  deserted.  There  were 

227 


228  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

the  old  gateways  and  an  old  bell  tower,  even  an  old 
cannon  lying  by  the  gate,  but  more  than  half  the 
people  were  gone,  and  those  who  remained  were 
evidently  poor  peasants,  living  there  I  should  say 
because  building  material  was  cheap,  and  eking 
out  the  precarious  existence  of  the  poor  peasant  all 
over  China.  The  hills  were  very  close  down  now 
and  the  valleys  very  narrow,  and  on  a  high  peak 
close  to  the  crumbling  walls  was  the  remains  of  a 
beacon  tower.  Here  by  the  border  they  had  need 
to  keep  sharp  watch  and  ward.  I  suppose  they 
have  nothing  to  fear  now,  or  perhaps  there  is 
nothing  to  take,  but  in  one  ruined  gateway  I  passed 
through  they  were  tending  swine,  and  in  another 
they  were  growing  melons.  At  least  it  would  never 
be  worth  the  raiders  while  to  gather  and  carry  away 
the  insipid  melon  of  China. 

The  Wall  is  always  wonderful.  It  was  wonderful 
here  even  in  its  decay.  The  country  looked  as  if 
some  great  giant  had  upheaved  it  in  great  flat  slabs, 
raising  what  had  been  horizontal  almost  into  the 
perpendicular.  It  would  have  been  impossible  I 
should  have  thought  for  any  man,  let  alone  an 
invading  army,  to  cross  there ;  there  were  steep 
grassy  slopes  on  one  side,  on  the  other  the  precipice 
was  rough  and  impassable,  and  yet,  on  the  very  top 
of  the  ridge,  ran  the  wall,  broken  and  falling  into 
decay  in  some  places.  I  do  not  wonder  that  it  has 
not  been  kept  in  repair,  what  I  wonder  is  that  it  was 
ever  built.  Tradition  says  they  loaded  goats  with 
the  material  and  drove  them  to  the  top  of  the  hills, 
but  it  seems  to  me  more  likely  they  were  carried 
by  slaves.  All  the  strenuous  past  lived  for  me 
again  as  the  sunlight  touched  the  tops  of  the  watch- 


THE   HEART  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS    229 

towers  and  I  saw  how  carefully  they  were  placed  to 
command  a  valley.  And  that  life  is  past  and  gone, 
the  Manchus  have  conquered  and  passed  away,  and 
the  Mongols — well  the  Mongols  they  say,  when 
they  come  in  contact  with  the  Chinese,  always  beat 
them,  and  yet  it  is  the  Chinese  who,  pushing  out 
beyond  the  Wall,  settle  on  and  till  the  rich  Mongol 
pasture  lands.  There  is  now  no  need  of  the  Wall, 
for  the  Chinese,  the  timid  Chinese  have  gone 
beyond  it. 

Inner  Mongolia  they  call  this  country  beyond  the 
Wall,  and  worse  and  worse  got  the  road,  sometimes 
it  was  between  high  banks,  sometimes  on  a  ledge  of 
the  hills,  sometimes  it  followed  the  course  of  a 
mountain  torrent,  but  always  the  general  direction 
was  the  same,  across  or  along  a  valley  to  steep  and 
rugged  hills,  hills  sterile,  stony,  and  forbidding, 
and  through  which  there  seemed  no  possible  way. 
There  was  always  a  way  to  the  valley  beyond,  but 
after  we  passed  the  Wall  I  considered  it  possible  only 
for  a  Peking  cart,  and  by  and  by  I  came  to  think  it 
was  only  by  supreme  good  luck  that  a  Peking  cart 
came  through.  There  was  a  big  brown  mule  in  the 
shafts  of  my  cart,  and  the  fawn  mule  led,  so  far 
away  that  I  wondered  more  than  once  whether  he 
had  anything  to  do  with  the  traction  at  all,  or 
whether  it  was  only  his  advice  that  was  needed. 
He  was  a  wise  mule,  and  when  he  came  to  a 
jumping-off  place,  with  apparently  nothing  beyond 
it,  he  used  to  pause  and  look  round  as  much  as  to 
say: 

"Jeewhicks!"  you  couldn't  expect  much  refine- 
ment from  a  Chinese  mule,  "this  is  tall  No 
can  do." 


230  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

The  carter  would  jump  down  from  his  place  on 
the  tail  of  the  shaft.  He  would  make  a  few  remarks 
in  Chinese,  which,  I  presume,  freely  translated 
were: 

"  Not  do  that  place  ?  What're  yer  givin'  us  ? 
Do  it  on  me  Jed." 

Then  the  fawn-coloured  mule  would  return  to  his 
work  with  a  whisk  of  his  tail  which  said  plainly  as 
words  : 

"  Oh  all  serene.  You  say  can  do.  Well,  I  ain't 
in  the  cart,  I  ain't  even  drawing  the  cart,  and  I 
ain't  particular  pals  with  the  gentleman  in  the  shafts, 
so  here  goes." 

And  the  result  justified  the  opinion  of  both.  We 
did  get  down,  but  it  seemed  to  me  a  mighty  narrow 
squeak,  and  I  was  breathless  at  the  thought  that  the 
experience  must  be  repeated  in  the  course  of  the 
next  hour  or  so.  At  first  I  was  so  terrified  I  decided 
I  would  walk,  then  I  found  it  took  me  so  long — one 
mountain  pass  finished  off  a  pair  of  boots — and  there 
were  so  many  of  them  I  decided  I  had  better  put  my 
faith  in  the  mules  if  I  did  not  wish  to  delay  the  outfit 
and  arrive  at  Jehol  barefoot.  But  I  never  went  up 
and  down  those  passes  without  bated  breath  and  a 
vow  that  never,  never  again  would  I  trust  myself  in 
the  mountains  in  a  Peking  cart.  Still  I  grew  to 
have  infinite  faith  in  the  Peking  cart.  I  was 
bruised  and  sore  all  over,  and  I  found  the  new 
nightgowns  and  chemises  in  my  box  were  worn  into 
holes  with  the  jolting,  but  I  believed  a  Peking  cart 
could  go  anywhere,  and  then  my  confidence  received 
a  rude  shock. 

We  came  to  a  stony  place,  steep  and  stony 
enough  in  all  conscience,  but  as  nothing  to  some  of 


THROUGH  THE  GREAT  WALL  INTO  INNER  MONGOLIA, 


PEKING   CART   UPSET. 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS   231 

the  places  we  had  passed  over,  where  there  had 
been  a  precipice  on  one  side  and  a  steep  cliff  on  the 
other,  and  where  to  go  over  would  certainly  have 
spelled  grave  disaster,  but  here  there  was  a  bank  at 
either  side  and  the  fawn-coloured  mule  never  even 
looked  round  before  negotiating  it.  Up,  up  went  one 
side  of  the  cart,  but  I  was  accustomed  to  that  by  this 
time,  up,  up,  the  angle  grew  perilous,  and  then  over 
we  went,  and  I  was  in  the  tilt  of  the  cart,  almost  on 
my  head,  and  the  brown  mule  in  the  shafts  seemed 
trying  to  get  into  the  cart  backwards.  I  didn't 
see  how  he  could,  but  I  have  unlimited  faith  in  the 
powers  of  a  Chinese  mule,  so,  amidst  wild  yells 
from  Tuan  and  the  carters,  I  was  out  on  to  the  hill- 
side before  I  had  time  to  think,  and  presently  was 
watching  those  mules  make  hay  of  my  possessions. 
They  didn't  leave  a  single  thing  either  in  or  on  that 
cart,  camera,  typewriter,  cushions,  dressing-bag,  bed- 
ding, all  shot  out  on  to  what  the  Chinaman  is  pleased 
to  consider  the  road,  even  the  heavy  box,  roped  on 
behind,  got  loose  and  fell  off,  and  the  mule  justified 
my  expectations  by,  in  some  mysterious  way,  break- 
ing the  woodwork  at  the  top  of  the  cart  and  tearing 
all  the  blue  tilt  away.  It  took  us  over  an  hour  to 
get  things  right  again,  and  my  faith  in  the  stability 
of  a  Peking  cart  was  gone  for  ever. 

We  were  right  in  the  very  heart  of  the  mountains 
now,  and  the  scenery  was  magnificent,  close  at  hand 
hills,  sterile  and  stony,  and  behind  them  range  after 
range  of  other  blue  hills  fading  away  into  the  bluer 
distance.  Day  after  day  I  looked  upon  a  scene  that 
would  be  magnificent  in  any  land,  and  here 
in  China  filled  me  with  wonder.  Could  this  be 
China,  practical,  prosaic  China,  China  of  the  ages, 


232  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

this  beautiful  land?  And  always  above  me  was 
the  blue  sky,  always  the  golden  sunshine  and  the 
invigorating,  dry  air  that  reminded  me,  as  I  have 
never  before  been  reminded,  of  Australia. 

But,  however  desolate  and  sterile  the  hills,  and 
they  seldom  had  more  than  an  occasional  fir-tree 
upon  them,  in  the  valleys  were  always  people  and 
evidences  of  their  handiwork  in  the  shape  of  wonder- 
fully tilled  fields.  There  are  no  fences,  the  China- 
man does  not  waste  his  precious  ground  in  fences, 
but  between  the  carefully  driven  furrows  there  is 
never  a  weed,  and  all  day  long  the  people  are 
engaged  turning  over  the  ground  so  that  it  will  not 
cake,  and  may  benefit  by  every  drop  of  moisture 
that  may  be  extracted  from  the  atmosphere.  A 
little  snow  in  the  winter,  a  shower  or  two  in  April, 
and  the  summer  rains  in  July  or  August,  are  all  this 
fruitful  land  requires  for  a  bountiful  harvest,  but  I 
am  bound  to  say  it  is  fruitful  only  because  of  the 
intense  care  that  is  given  to  it.  No  one  surely  but 
a  Chinese  peasant  would  work  as  these  people 
work.  In  every  valley  bottom  there  is,  according 
to  its  size,  a  town,  perhaps  built  of  stones  with 
thatched  roofs,  a  small  hamlet,  or  at  least  a  farm- 
house, enclosed  either  behind  a  neat  mud  wall  or 
a  more  picturesque  one  of  the  yellow  stalks  of  the 
kaoliang.  And  the  people  are  everywhere,  in  the 
very  loneliest  places  far  up  on  the  hills  I  would  see 
a  spot  of  blue  herding  black  goats  or  swine,  and  on 
parts  of  the  road  far  away  from  any  habitation,  when 
I  began  to  think  I  had  really  got  beyond  even  the 
ubiquitous  Chinaman,  we  would  meet  a  forlorn, 
ragged  figure,  an  old  man  past  other  work  or  a  small 
boy  with  a  bamboo  across  his  shoulders  and  slung 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS    233 

from  it  two  dirty  baskets.  With  scoop  in  hand  he 
was  gathering  the  droppings  of  the  animals  with 
which  to  make  argol  for  fuel,  for  enough  wood  is  not 
to  be  had,  and  in  this  respect  so  industrious  are  the 
Chinese  that  their  roads  are  really  the  cleanest  I 
have  ever  seen. 

There  were  strangely  enough  here,  in  the  heart 
of  the  mountains,  signs  of  foreign  enterprise,  for 
however  desolate  the  place  might  seem,  sooner  or 
later  we  were  sure  to  come  across  the  advertisements 
of  the  British  American  Tobacco  Company.  There 
they  would  be  in  a  row  great  placards  advertising 
Rooster  Cigarettes,  or  Peacock  Cigarettes  or  Purple 
Mountain  Cigarettes,  half  a  dozen  pictures,  and  then 
one  upside  down  to  attract  attention.  I  never  saw 
the  men  who  put  them  there,  and  I  hate  the  blatant 
advertisement  that  spoils  the  scenery  as  a  rule. 
Here  I  greeted  them  with  a  distinct  thrill  of  pleasure. 
Here  were  men  of  my  race  and  colour,  doing 
pioneering  work  in  the  out-of-the-way  corners  of  the 
earth,  and  I  metaphorically  made  them  a  curtsy  and 
wished  them  well,  for  no  one  knows  better  than  I 
do  the  lonely  lives  they  lead.  But  they  are  bringing 
China  in  touch  with  the  outside  world. 

By  and  by  we  came  to  a  place  where  carts  were 
not  seen,  the  people  were  wiser  than  I,  but  there 
was  a  constant  stream  of  laden  mules  and  donkeys 
bringing  grain  inside  the  wall.  Long  before  I 
could  see  them  I  could  hear  the  jingling  of  the 
collar  of  bells  most  of  them  wore,  and  in  an  inn  yard 
we  always  met  the  train  and  saw  them  start  out 
before  us  in  the  morning,  though  we  were  early 
enough,  I  saw  to  that,  often  have  I  had  my  breakfast 
before  five  o'clock,  or  coming  in  after  we  did  in  the 


234  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

dusk  of  the  evening.  I  objected  to  travelling  in  the 
dusk.  I  felt  the  roads  held  pitfalls  enough  without 
adding  darkness  to  our  other  difficulties. 

The  inns  grew  poorer  and  poorer  as  we  got  deeper 
into  the  mountains  but  always  I  found  in  those  inn 
yards  something  interesting  to  look  at.  By  night  I 
was  too  weary  to  do  anything  but  go  to  bed,  but  I 
generally  had  my  tiffin  in  a  shady  spot  in  a  corner 
of  the  yard  and  watched  all  that  was  going  on.  The 
yard  would  be  crowded  with  animals,  mules,  and 
donkeys,  and  always  there  were  people  coming  and 
going,  who  thought  the  foreign  woman  was  a  sight 
not  to  be  missed.  There  have  been  missionaries 
here  or  in  Chihli  for  the  last  hundred  years,  so  they 
must  have  seen  foreign  women,  but  the  sight  cannot 
be  a  common  one  judging  by  the  way  they  stared. 
There  would  be  well-to-do  Chinamen  riding  nice- 
looking  donkeys,  still  more  prosperous  ones  borne 
in  litters  by  a  couple  of  protesting  mules,  and  in 
every  corner  of  the  yard  would  be  beasts  eating. 
And  all  these  beasts  of  burden  required  numerous 
helpers,  and  the  hangers-on  were  the  most  dilapid- 
ated specimens  of  humanity  I  have  ever  seen,  not 
nearly  so  sure  of  a  meal,  I'm  afraid,  as  the  pigs 
and  hens  that  wandered  round  scavenging.  There 
would  be  an  occasional  old  woman  and  very,  very 
seldom  a  young  one  with  large  feet  marking  her  as 
belonging  to  the  very  poorest  class,  but  mostly  they 
were  men  dressed  in  blue  cotton,  faded,  torn,  ragged, 
and  yet  patched  beyond  recognition. 

"  Patch  beside  patch  is  neighbourly,"  says  an  old 
saw,  "  but  patch  upon  patch  is  beggarly."  The  poor 
folks  in  the  inn  yards  not  only  had  patch  upon 
patch,  but  even  the  last  patches  were  torn,  and  they 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS   235 

looked  far  more  poverty-stricken  than  the  children 
who  played  about  this  pleasant  weather  wearing  only 
their  birthday  dress.     But  they  all  had  something 
to  do.     An  old  man  whose  bald  head  must  have 
required  little  shaving  and  whose  weedy  queue  was 
hardly  worth   plaiting,   drew  water  from   the  well, 
another  who  had  adopted  the  modern  style  of  dress- 
ing   the   hair   gathered    up    the   droppings    of    the 
animals,  a  small  boy  with  wild  hair  that  no  one  had 
time  to  attend  to,  and  clad  in  a  sort  of  fringe  of  rags, 
drove  away  the  hideous  black  sow  and  her  numerous 
litter  when  she  threatened  to  become  a  nuisance,  and 
from  earliest  dawn  to  dark  there  were  men  cutting 
chaff.     The  point  of  a  huge  knife  was  fixed  in  the 
end  of  a  wooden  groove,  one  man  pushed  the  fodder 
into  its  position  and  another  lifted  the  knife  by  its 
wooden  handle  and  brought  it  down  with  all  his 
strength.     Then  he  lifted  it,  and  the  process  was 
repeated.     I  have  seen  men  at  work  thus,  in  the 
morning  before  it  was  light  enough  to  see,  I  have 
seen  them  at  it  when  the  dusk  was  falling.     There 
do  not  seem  to  be  any  recognised  hours  for  stopping 
work  in  China.     And  all  the  heads  of  these  people 
were  wild.     If  they  wore  a  queue  it  was  dirty  and 
unplaited,  and  the  shaven  part  of  their  heads  had 
a  week's  growth  of  bristles,  and  if  they  were  more 
modern  in  their  hair-dressing,  their  wild  black  hair 
stuck  out  all  over  the  place  and  looked  as  if  it  had 
originally  been  cut  by  the  simple  process  of  sticking 
a  basin  on  the  head  and  clipping  all  the  hairs  that 
stood  out  round  it.     But  untidy  heads  of  hair  are 
not  peculiar  to  the  inn  yard,  they  are  common  enough 
wherever  I  have  been  in  China.     There  were  always 
innumerable  children  in  the  yard,  too,  with  heads 


236  A  WOMAN  IN   CHINA 

shaven  all  but  little  tails  of  hair  here  and  there, 
which,  being  plaited  stiffly,  stood  out  like  the  head- 
gear of  a  clown,  and  there  were  cart  men  and  donkey 
men,  just  peasants  in  blue,  with  their  blouses 
girt  round  their  waists.  There  were  the  guests, 
too,  petticoated  Chinese  gentlemen,  squires,  or 
merchants,  or  well-to-do  farmers,  standing  in  the 
doorways  looking  on,  and  occasionally  ladies, 
dressed  in  the  gayest  colours,  with  their  faces 
powdered  and  painted,  peeped  shyly  out,  half 
secretively,  as  if  they  were  ashamed,  but  felt  they 
must  take  one  look  at  the  foreign  woman  who  walked 
about  as  if  she  were  not  ashamed  of  the  open  day- 
light, and  was  quite  capable  of  managing  for  herself. 
Sometimes  I  was  taken  to  the  women's  quarters, 
where  the  women-folk  of  the  innkeeper  dwelt,  and 
there,  seated  on  a  k'ang,  in  a  room  that  had  never 
been  aired  since  it  was  built,  I  would  find  feminine 
things  of  all  ages,  from  the  half-grown  girl,  who  in 
England  would  have  been  playing  hockey,  to  the  old 
great  grandmother  who  was  nursing  the  cat.  They 
always  offered  me  tea,  and  I  always  took  it,  and  they 
always  examined  my  dress,  scornfully  I  am  afraid, 
because  it  was  only  of  cotton,  and  wanted  to  lay 
their  fingers  in  the  waves  of  my  hair,  only  I  drew 
the  line  at  those  dirty  hands  coming  close  to  my 
face.  At  first  it  all  seemed  strange,  but  in  a  day  I  felt 
as  if  I  had  been  staying  in  just  such  inns  all  my  life. 
The  farther  one  wanders  I  find  the  sooner  does 
novelty  wear  off.  As  a  little  girl,  to  go  fifty  miles 
from  my  home  and  to  have  my  meals  off  a  different- 
patterned  china  gave  me  a  delightful  sense  of 
novelty,  and  to  sleep  in  a  strange  bed  kept  me  awake 
all  night.  Now  in  an  hour — oh  far  less — nothing 


INN  YARD LITTER   WITH   MULES    WAITING  TO  BE   LOADED. 


INN  YARD  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS MY  CARTS. 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS   287 

feels  new,   not   even   the   courtyard    of  a  Chinese 
mountain  inn. 

I  have  never  seen  so  many  people  with  goitres. 
The  missionaries  at  Jehol  told  me  it  was  very  much 
dreaded,  and  that  the  people  brought  the  affliction 
upon  themselves  by  flying  into  violent  passions.  I 
doubt  very  much  whether  that  is  the  origin  of  the 
goitre ;  but  that  it  is  very  much  dreaded,  I  can  quite 
believe.  For  not  only  does  a  goitre  look  most  un- 
sightly, but  the  unfortunate  possessor  must  always 
keep  his  head  very  straight,  for  if  he  lets  it  drop  for- 
ward, even  for  a  moment,  he  closes  the  air  passages, 
and  is  in  danger  of  suffocating.  I  have  heard  it  is 
brought  on  by  something  in  the  water.  Water,  of 
course,  I  never  dared  drink  in  China.  I  saw  very 
pleasant,  clear-looking,  liquid  drawn  up  from  the 
wells  in  those  inn  courtyards  in  closely  plaited 
buckets  of  basket-work,  but  I  never  ventured  upon 
it.  I  always  remembered  Aunt  Eliza : 

"  In  the  drinking  well 

Which  the  plumber  built  her, 
Aunt  Eliza  fell. 
We  must  buy  a  filter." 

Aunt  Eliza's  cheerful,  if  somewhat  callous, 
legatees  had  some  place  where  they  could  buy  a 
filter,  I  had  not,  besides,  I  am  sure,  all  the  filters  in 
the  world  could  not  make  safe  water  drawn  from  a 
well  in  a  Chinese  inn  yard,  so  I  drank  tea,  which 
necessitates  the  water  being  boiled. 

The  Chinese  build  their  wells  with  the  expectation 
of  someone,  not  necessarily  Aunt  Eliza,  coming  to 
grief  in  them.  On  one  occasion  a  man  of  my 
acquaintance  was  ordering  a  well  to  be  made  in  his 
yard,  and  he  instructed  the  well-sinker  that  he  need 


238  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

not  make  it,  as  the  majority  of  Chinese  wells  are 
made,  much  wider  at  the  bottom  than  at  the  top. 
But  the  workman  shook  his  head. 

He  must  make  it,  he  said,  wide  enough  at  the 
bottom  for  a  man — or  woman,  they  are  the  greatest 
offenders — to  turn  round  if  he  flung  himself  in.  He 
might  change  his  mind  and  want  to  get  out  again, 
and  if  a  body  were  found  in  a  well  not  roomy  enough 
to  allow  of  this  change  of  mind,  he,  the  builder, 
would  be  tried  for  murder. 

This  thoughtful  consideration  for  the  would-be 
suicide,  who  might  wish  to  repent,  is  truly  Chinese. 
Personally  I  doubt  very  much  whether  anyone  would 
take  the  trouble  to  investigate  the  bottom  of  a  well. 
There  might  easily  be  something  very  much  worse 
than  Aunt  Eliza  in  it.  Presumably  she  was  a  well- 
to-do,  and  therefore  a  clean  old  lady,  while  the 
frequenters  of  those  yards  were  beyond  description. 

The  people  in  the  little  towns,  and  more  especially 
those  in  the  lonely  farm-houses  which  looked  so 
neat  and  well-kept  in  contrast  with  the  ragged,  dirty 
objects  that  came  out  of  them,  kept  a  most  hand- 
some breed  of  dogs.  Sometimes  they  were  black 
and  white,  or  grey,  but  more  often  they  were  a 
beautiful  tawny  colour.  They  were,  apparently,  of 
the  same  breed  as  the  wonks  that  infest  all  Chinese 
towns,  but  there  was  the  same  difference  between 
these  dogs  and  the  wonks  as  there  is  between  a 
miserable,  mangy  mongrel  and  the  pampered  beast 
that  takes  first  prize  at  a  great  show.  Indeed,  I 
should  like  to  see  these  great  mountain  dogs  at  a 
show,  I  imagine  they  would  be  hard  to  beat.  They 
looked  very  fierce,  whether  they  are  or  not  I  don't 
know,  because  I  always  gave  them  a  wide  berth,  and 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS   289 

Tuan,  the  cautious,  always  shook  his  head  when 
one  came  too  close,  called  to  someone  else  with  a 
stick  to  drive  it  away,  and  murmured  his  usual 
formula :  "  Must  take  care."  They  told  me  there 
were  wolves  among  these  mountains,  and  I  can  quite 
believe  it,  though  I  never  saw  one.  In  the  dead  of 
winter  they  are  fierce  and  dangerous,  and  much 
dreaded.  They  come  into  the  villages,  steal  the 
helpless  children,  will  make  a  snap  at  a  man  in  pass- 
ing and  inflict  terrible  wounds.  A  Chinaman  will 
go  to  sleep  in  all  sorts  of  uncomfortable  spots,  and 
more  than  one  has  been  wakened  by  having  half 
the  side  of  his  face  torn  away.  Of  such  a  wound  as 
this  the  man  generally  dies,  but  so  many  are  seen 
who  have  so  suffered,  and  gruesome  sights  they  are, 
that  the  wolves  must  be  fairly  numerous  and  exceed- 
ingly bold.  They  take  the  children,  too,  long  before 
the  winter  has  come  upon  the  land.  There  was  a 
well-loved  child,  most  precious,  the  only  son  of  the 
only  son,  and  his  parents  and  grandparents  being 
busy  harvesting  they  left  him  at  home  playing 
happily  about  the  threshold.  When  they  came  back, 
after  a  short  absence,  they  found  he  had  been  so 
terribly  mauled  by  a  wolf  that  shortly  after  he  died, 
and  the  home  was  desolate.  And  yet  these  wolves 
are  very  difficult  to  shoot. 

"  I  have  never  seen  one,"  a  man  told  me.  "  Again 
and  again,  when  I  was  in  the  mountains,  the 
villagers  would  come  complaining  of  the  depreda- 
tions of  a  wolf.  I  could  see  for  myself  the  results  of 
his  visit,  but  never,  never  have  I  found  the  wolf. 
It  seems  as  if  they  must  smell  a  gun." 

When  first  I  heard  of  the  wolves  I  laughed.  I 
was  so  sure  no  beast  of  prey  could  live  alongside 


240  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

a    Chinaman,    the    Chinaman   would   want   to   eat 
him. 

"  They  would  if  they  could  catch  him,"  said  my 
friend,  "  but  they  can't,  though  the  majority  of  the 
population  are  on  the  look-out  for  him.  There  is 
nothing  of  the  hunter  about  the  Chinaman." 

"  Meat! "  said  a  wretched  farmer  once,  rubbing  his 
stomach,  when  the  missionaries  fed  him  during  a 
famine.  He  couldn't  remember  when  he  had  tasted 
meat,  and  not  in  his  most  prosperous  year  had  he 
had  such  a  feast  as  his  saviours  had  given  him  then. 
"How  much  do  you  make  a  year?"  asked  the 
missionary. 

He  thought  a  little  and  then  he  said  that,  in  a  good 
year,  he  perhaps  made  twelve  dollars,  but  then,  of 
course,  all  years  were  not  good  years.  But  we,  on 
our  part,  must  remember  that  these  people  belong  to 
another  age,  and  that  the  purchasing  power  of  the 
dollar  for  their  wants  is  greater  than  it  is  with  us. 

Very,  very  lonely  it  seems  to  me  must  these 
mountain  villages  be  when  the  frost  of  winter  holds 
the  hills  in  its  grip,  very  shut  out  from  the  world  were 
they  now  in  the  early  summer,  and  very  little  could 
they  know  of  the  life  that  goes  on  within  the  Wall,  let 
alone  in  other  lands.  Indeed  there  are  no  other 
lands  for  the  Chinese  of  this  class,  this  is  his  country, 
and  this  suffices  for  him,  everybody  else  is  in  outer 
barbarism. 

Steeper  and  steeper  grew  the  hills,  more  and  more 
toilsome  the  way,  and  the  people,  when  we  stopped, 
looked  more  and  more  wonderingly  at  the  stranger. 
At  one  place,  where  I  had  tiffin,  I  shared  the  room 
and  the  k'ang,  the  sun  was  so  hot  and  there  was 
no  shade,  so  I  could  not  stay  outside,  with  six  women 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS   241 

of  all  ages,  two  had  babies  that  had  never  been 
washed,  two  had  hideous  goitres,  and  all  had  their 
hair  gathered  into  long  curved  horns  at  the  back. 
There  was  also  on  the  floor,  a  promising  litter  of 
little  pigs,  and  three  industrious  hens.  The  women's 
blue  coats  were  old,  torn,  patched,  soiled,  and  yet — 
oh  the  pity  of  it,  these  women,  who  had  to  work 
hard  for  their  living,  work  in  the  fields  probably,  had 
their  feet  bound.  One  had  not,  but  all  the  rest  were 
maimed.  Two  of  them  had  their  throats  all  bruised, 
and  I  wondered  if  they  had  been  trying  to  hang  them- 
selves as  a  means  of  getting  away  from  a  life  that  had 
no  joy  in  it,  but  I  afterwards  found  that  with  two 
coins,  or  anything  else  that  will  serve  the  purpose, 
coins  are  probably  rather  scarce,  they  pinch  up  the 
flesh  and  produce  these  bruises  as  a  counter-irritant, 
and,  ugly  as  it  looks,  it  is  often  very  effective. 

These  should  have  been  country  people,  if  ever 
any  people  belonged  to  the  country,  and  then,  as  I 
looked  at  them,  the  truth  dawned  on  me.  There 
are  no  country  people  in  the  China  I  have  seen,  as 
I  from  Australia  know  country  people,  the  men  of 
the  bush.  They — yes — here  in  the  mountains,  are 
a  people  of  mean  streets,  a  slum  people,  decadent, 
the  very  sediment  of  an  age-long  civilisation.  I 
said  this  to  a  man  who  had  lived  long  in  China  and 
spoke  the  language  well,  and  he  looked  at  me  in 
surprise. 

"Why,"  he  said,  "they  all  seem  to  me  country 
people.  The  ordinary  people  of  the  towns  are  just 
country  yokels." 

But  we  meant  exactly  the  same  thing.  I  looked 
at  the  country  people  I  had  known  all  my  life,  the 
capable,  resourceful  pioneers,  facing  new  conditions, 

Q 


242  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

breaking  new  ground,  ready  for  any  emergency,  the 
men  who,  if  they  could  not  found  a  new  nation,  must 
perish ;  he  was  looking  at  the  men  from  sleepy  little 
country  villages  in  the  old  land,  men  who  had  been 
left  behind  in  the  race.  And  so  we  meant  exactly 
the  same  thing,  though  we  expressed  it  in  apparently 
opposing  terms.  These  people  are  serfs,  struggling 
from  dawn  to  dark  for  enough  to  fill  their  stomachs, 
toiling  along  a  well-worn  road,  without  originality, 
bound  to  the  past,  with  all  the  go  and  initiative 
crushed  out  of  them.  As  their  fathers  went  so  must 
they  go,  the  evils  that  their  fathers  suffered  must 
they  suffer,  and  the  struggle  for  a  bare  existence  is 
so  cruelly  hard,  that  they  have  no  hope  of  improving 
themselves. 

It  was  all  interesting,  wonderful,  but  I  do  not  think 
ever  in  the  world  have  I  felt  so  lonely.  I  longed 
with  an  intense  longing  to  see  someone  of  my  own 
colour,  to  speak  with  someone  in  my  own  tongue. 

I  don't  know  that  I  was  exactly  afraid,  and  yet 
sometimes  when  I  saw  things  that  I  did  not  under- 
stand, I  wondered  what  I  should  do  if  anything  did 
happen.  Considering  the  way  some  people  had 
talked  in  Peking,  it  would  have  been  a  little  surprising 
if  I  had  not.  Once  we  came  upon  a  place  where  the 
side  of  the  road  was  marked  with  crosses  in  whitewash 
and  I  wondered.  I  remembered  the  stories  I  had 
heard  of  the  last  anti-Christian  outbreak,  and  I 
wondered  if  those  crosses  had  anything  to  do  with 
another.  It  all  sounds  very  foolish  now,  but  I 
remember  as  cross  after  cross  came  into  view  I  was 
afraid,  and  at  last  I  called  Tuan  and  asked  him  what 
they  meant. 

"  Some  man,"  said  he,  "  give  monies  mend  road, 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS   248 

puttee  white  so  can  see  where  mend  it."  And  that 
was  all !  But  what  that  road  was  like  before  it  was 
mended  I  cannot  imagine! 

At  last,  after  a  wearying  day's  journey  of  one 
hundred  and  twenty  li,  or  forty  miles,  over  the 
roughest  roads  in  the  world,  we  came  in  the  evening 
sunlight  upon  a  long  line  of  grunting,  ragged  camels 
just  outside  a  great  square  gate  enclosed  in  heavy 
masonry,  and  we  were  at  Pa  Kou,  as  it  is  spelt  by 
the  wisdom  of  those  who  have  spelled  Chinese,  but 
it  is  pronounced  Ba  Go.  It  is  a  city  or  rather  a  long 
street,  twenty  li  or  nearly  seven  miles  long,  and  the 
houses  were  packed  as  closely  together  in  that 
street  as  they  are  in  London  itself.  The  worst  of 
the  journey,  Tuan  told  me,  was  over.  There  was 
another  range  of  mountains  to  cross,  we  had  been 
going  north,  now  we  were  to  go  west,  it  would  take 
us  two  days  and  we  would  be  in  Jehol. 

And  here,  for  the  first  time,  the  authorities  took 
notice  of  me.  The  first  inn  we  stopped  at  was  dirty, 
and  Tuan  went  on  a  tour  of  inspection  to  see  if  he 
could  not  find  one  more  to  his  Missie's  liking,  and 
I  sat  in  my  cart  and  watched  the  crowded  throng, 
and  thought  that  never  in  my  life  had  I  been  so 
tired — I  ached  in  every  limb.  If  the  finding  of  an 
inn  had  depended  on  me  I  should  simply  have  gone 
to  sleep  where  I  was.  At  last  it  was  decided  there 
was  none  better,  and  into  the  crowded  and  dirty  yard 
we  went,  and  I,  as  soon  as  my  bed  was  put  up,  had 
my  bath  and  got  into  it,  as  the  only  clean  place  there 
was,  besides  I  was  too  tired  to  eat,  and  I  thought  I 
might  as  well  rest. 

But  I  had  been  seen  sitting  in  the  street,  and  the 
Tutuh  of  the  town,  the  Chief  Magistrate,  sent  his 


244  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

secretary  to  call  upon  the  "  distinguished  traveller " 
and  to  ask  if  she,  Tuan,  who  never  could  manage  the 
pronouns,  reported  it  as  "  he/'  had  a  passport.  The 
"  distinguished  traveller  "  apologised  for  being  in  bed 
and  unable  to  see  the  great  man's  secretary,  and  sent 
her  servant — I  noticed  he  put  on  his  best  clothes,  so 
I  suppose  he  posed  as  an  interpreter — to  show  she 
had  a  passport  all  in  order.  He  came  back  looking 
very  grave  and  very  important. 

"  She  say  must  take  care,  plenty  robber,  must 
have  soldier." 

Here  was  a  dilemma.  I  had  heard  so  much  about 
the  robbers  of  China,  and  the  robbers  of  China  are 
by  no  means  pleasant  gentlemen  to  meet.  A  robber 
band  is  not  an  uncommon  thing,  but  is  more 
dangerous  probably,  to  the  people  of  the  land  than 
to  the  foreigner,  for  here  in  the  north  the  lesson 
of  1900  has  been  well  rubbed  in.  It  is  a  dangerous 
thing  to  tackle  a  foreigner.  Dire  is  the  vengeance 
that  is  exacted  for  his  life.  Still  I  wasn't  quite  com- 
fortable in  my  own  mind.  I  thought  of  the  mighty 
robber  White  Wolf,  who  ravaged  Honan,  of  whom 
even  the  missionaries  and  the  British  American 
Tobacco  Company  are  afraid.  On  one  occasion 
two  missionaries  were  hunted  by  his  band  and  driven 
so  close  that,  as  they  lay  hidden  under  a  pile  of 
straw,  a  pursuer  stood  on  the  shoulder  of  one  of 
them.  He  lay  hardly  daring  to  breathe  and  the 
robber  moved  away  without  discovering  their  hiding- 
place.  Afterwards,  however,  they  did  fall  into  the 
hands  of  White  Wolf,  who,  contrary  to  their  expecta- 
tions, courteously  fed  them  and  set  them  on  their 
way.  Of  course,  they  had  nothing  of  which  to  be 
despoiled,  and  it  was  their  good-fortune  to  fall  into 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS   245 

the  hands  of  the  leader  himself,  who  knows  a  little  of 
the  world,  and  something  of  the  danger  of  attacking 
a  foreigner.  The  danger  had  been  that  they  might 
fall  into  the  hands  of  his  men,  his  ignorant  followers, 
who,  in  their  zeal,  would  probably  kill  them,  perhaps 
with  torture,  and  report  to  the  chief  later  on.  This 
happened  after  I  had  been  to  Jehol,  but,  of  course, 
I  had  heard  of  White  Wolf.  I  knew  his  country  was 
farther  to  the  south  in  the  more  disturbed  zone,  and 
I  did  not  expect  to  meet  robbers  here.  Still  I  had 
the  Tutuh's  word  for  it  that  here  they  were. 

If  you  are  going  to  have  any  anxiety  in  the  future, 
I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  it  is  just  as  well  to 
be  dead  tired.  I  couldn't  do  anything,  and  I  was 
utterly  tired  out.  I  had  been  in  the  open  air  all  day 
since  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  was  safe,  in  all 
probability,  for  the  night,  and  robbers  or  no  robbers, 
I  felt  I  might  as  well  have  a  sound  night's  rest  and 
see  what  the  situation  looked  like  in  the  morning.  I 
heard  afterwards  there  were  missionaries  in  the  town, 
and  had  I  known  it,  I  might  have  sought  them  out 
and  taken  counsel  with  men  of  my  own  colour,  but  I 
did  not  know  it. 

"  Must  have  soldier,"  repeated  Tuan  emphatically, 
standing  beside  my  camp  bed.  "  How  many  soldier 
Missie  want? " 

I  had  heard  too  many  stories  of  Chinese  soldiers 
to  put  much  reliance  on  them  as  protectors.  I 
didn't  know  offhand  how  many  I  wanted.  I  was  by 
no  means  sure  that  I  wouldn't  be  just  as  safe  with 
the  robbers.  One  thing  was  certain,  I  couldn't  go 
back  within  two  days  of  my  destination,  besides  for 
all  I  knew,  the  robbers  were  behind  me. 

I  put  it  to  Tuan. 


246  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

"  Suppose  I  have  no  passport,  what  the  Tutuh  do 
then?" 

"  Then,"  said  my  henchman  emphatically,  "  he  no 
care  robber  get  Missie." 

Evidently  the  Tutuh  meant  well  by  me,  so  I  said 
they  might  send  a  soldier  for  me  to  look  at,  at  six 
o'clock  next  morning  and  then  I  would  decide 
how  many  I  would  have,  and  feeling  that  at  least  I 
had  eleven  hours  respite,  I  turned  over  and  went  to 
sleep. 

Punctually  the  soldier  turned  up.  He  was  a 
good-tempered  little  man,  all  in  blue  a  little  darker 
than  the  ordinary  coolie  wears,  over  it  he  had  a  red 
sleeveless  jacket  marked  with  great  black  Chinese 
characters,  back  and  front,  a  mob  cap  of  blue  was 
upon  his  head,  over  his  eyes  a  paper  lampshade ; 
he  had  a  nice  little  sturdy  pony,  and,  for  all  arms, 
a  fly  whisk! 

I  didn't  feel  I  could  really  be  afraid  of  him,  and  I 
strongly  suspected  the  robbers  would  thoroughly 
agree  with  me. 

"  What's  he  for?"  I  asked  Tuan. 

That  worthy  looked  very  grave.  "  Must  take 
care,"  he  replied  with  due  deliberation.  "  Plenty 
robber.  She  drive  away  robber.  How  many 
soldier  Missie  have?" 

Well  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  face  the 
danger,  if  danger  there  was.  I  don't  know  now  if 
there  was  any.  It  is  so  difficult  to  believe  that  any 
unpleasant  thing  will  happen  to  one.  Again  I 
reflected  that  there  is  no  danger  in  China  till  the 
danger  actually  arrives,  and  then  it  is  too  late.  What 
my  guardian  was  to  drive  away  robbers  with  I  am 
sure  I  don't  know,  for  I  cannot  see  that  the  fly  whisk 


STREET    IN    PA    KOU. 


"CAVALRY." 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS   247 

would  have  been  very  effective.  The  "  cartee  men  " 
were  perfectly  willing  to  go  on,  so  I  said  I  thought 
this  warrior  would  be  amply  sufficient  for  all  pur- 
poses, and  we  started. 

Everybody  in  Pa  Kou  keeps  a  lark,  I  should 
think,  and  every  one  of  those  larks  were  singing 
joyously  as  we  left  the  town.  Never  have  I  heard 
such  a  chorus  of  bird  song,  and  the  morning  was 
delightful.  My  guardian  rode  ahead,  and  for  three 
hours  as  we  jolted  over  the  track,  I  kept  a  look-out 
for  robbers,  wondered  what  they  would  be  like,  and 
what  I  should  do  when  we  met,  but  the  only  things 
I  saw  were  bundles  of  brushwood  for  the  kitchen 
fires  of  Pa  Kou,  apparently  walking  thitherward  on 
four  donkey  legs.  They  reassured  me,  those 
bundles  of  brushwood,  they  had  such  a  peaceful  look. 
Somehow  I  didn't  think  we  were  going  to  meet  any 
robbers. 

Evidently  Tuan  and  the  "  cartee  men "  came  to 
the  same  conclusion,  for,  at  the  end  of  three  hours, 
they  came  and  said  the  soldier  must  be  changed,  did 
Missie  want  another?  Missie  thought  she  didn't, 
and  the  guard  was  dismissed,  his  services  being 
valued  at  twenty  cents.  It  was  plenty,  for  he  came, 
with  beaming  face,  and  bowed  his  thanks. 

That  was  the  only  time  I  had  anything  to  do  with 
soldiers  on  the  journey,  and  I  forgot  all  about  him, 
hieroglyphics,  lampshade,  fly  whisk,  and  all,  till  I 
found  entered  in  the  accounts,  Tuan  was  a  learned 
clerk  and  kept  accounts :  "  Cavalry,  twenty  cents." 

Then  I  felt  I  had  had  more  than  my  money's 
worth. 

The  last  night  of  my  journey  I  spent  at  Liu  Kou, 
the  sixth  valley,  and  the  next  morning  the  men  made 


248  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

tremendous  efforts  to  hide  all  trace  of  the  disaster 
that  had  befallen  us  on  the  way.  I  said  it  didn't 
matter,  it  could  wait  till  we  got  to  Jehol,  but  both 
Tuan  and  the  "  cartee  men "  were  of  a  different 
opinion.  Apparently  they  would  lose  face  if  they 
came  to  their  journey's  end  in  such  a  condition,  and 
I  had  to  wait  while  the  cloth  was  taken  off  the 
back  of  the  cart,  and  carefully  put  on  in  front,  so 
that  the  broken  wood  was  entirely  concealed. 
Then,  when  everybody  was  satisfied  that  we  were 
making  at  least  a  presentable  appearance,  we  started. 
You  see,  I  never  appreciated  the  situation  properly. 
To  travel  in  a  cart  seemed  to  me  so  humble  a  mode 
of  progression,  that  it  really  did  not  matter  very 
much  whether  it  were  broken  or  not,  indeed  a  broken 
cart  seemed  more  to  me  like  going  the  whole  hog, 
and  roughing  it  thoroughly  while  we  were  about  it. 
But  with  the  men  it  was  different,  a  cart  was  a  most 
dignified  mode  of  conveyance,  and  to  enter  a  big 
town  in  a  broken  one  was  as  bad  as  travelling  in  a 
motor  with  all  the  evidences  of  a  breakdown  upon 
it,  due  to  careless  driving.  And  when  I  saw  their 
point  of  view,  of  course  I  at  once  sat  down  on  some 
steps  and  watched  an  old  man  draw  water,  and  a 
disgusting-looking  sow,  who  made  me  forswear 
bacon,  attend  to  the  wants  of  her  numerous  black 
progeny. 

Tuan  passed  the  time  by  having  a  heated  argu- 
ment with  the  landlord.  The  fight  waxed  furious, 
as  I  was  afterwards  told,  regarding  the  hot  water  I 
had  required  for  my  bath,  which  was  heated  in  a 
long  pipe,  like  a  copper  drain-pipe,  that  was  inserted 
in  a  hole  by  the  k'ang  fire.  Fuel  is  scarce,  and  stern 
necessity  has  seen  to  it  that  these  people  get  the 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS   249 

most  they  possibly  can  out  of  a  fire.     I  hope  Tuan 
paid  him  fairly,  but  of  course  I  do  not  know,  I  parted 
with  a  dollar  for  the  night's  lodging  and  the  little 
drop  of  hot  water,  for  otherwise  we  carried  our  own 
fuel — charcoal — bought  our  provisions  and  cooked 
for  ourselves,  but  we  left  that  landlord  protesting  at 
the  gate  that  he  would  never  put  up  another  foreigner. 
That  last  day's  journey  was,  I  think,  the  hardest 
day  of  all,  or  perhaps  it  was  that  I  was  tired  out. 
There  was  a  long,  long  mountain  to  be  got  over, 
the  Hung  Shih  La,  the  Red  Stone  Rock,  and  we 
crossed  it  by  a  pass,  the  worst  of  many  mountain 
passes  we  had  come  across.     We  climbed  up  slowly 
to  the  top  and  there  was  a  tablet  to  the  memory  of 
the  man  who  had  repaired  the  road.     What  it  was 
like  before  it  was  repaired  I  can't  imagine,  or  per- 
haps it  was  not  done  very  recently,   say  within  a 
couple  of  hundred  years,  for  the  road  was  very  bad. 
There  is  only  room  for  one  vehicle,  and  the  carters 
raised  their  voices  in  a  loud  singsong,  to  warn  all 
whom  it  might  concern  that  they  were  occupying  the 
road.     What  would  happen  if  one  cart  entered  at 
one  end  and  another  at  the  other  I  am  sure  I  cannot 
imagine,   for  there  seemed  to  be  no  place  that   I 
could  see  where  they  could  pass  each  other,  and  I 
think  it  must  be  at  least  three  steep  miles  long. 
I  did  not  trust  the  carts.     I  walked.     My  faith  in  a 
Peking  cart  and  mule  had  gone  for  ever,  and  if  we 
had  started  to  roll  here,  it  seemed  to  me,  we  should 
not  have  stopped  till  we  reached  America  or  Siberia 
at  least.     So  every  step  of  the  way  I  walked,  and 
Tuan  would  have  insisted  that  the  carts  come  behind 
me.     But  here  I  put  my  foot  down,  etiquette  or  no 
etiquette  I  insisted  they  should  go  in  front.     I  felt 


250  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

it  would  be  just  as  bad  to  be  crushed  by  a  falling  cart 
as  to  be  upset  in  it^  so  they  went  on  ahead,  and  when 
we  met  people,  and  we  met  a  good  many  on  foot, 
Tuan  called  out  to  them  and  probably  explained 
that  such  was  the  foolish  eccentricity  of  his  Missie 
that,  though  she  was  rich  beyond  the  dreams  of 
avarice,  and  always  travelled  with  two  carts,  she  yet 
insisted  upon  walking  down  all  the  passes. 

It  was  worth  it  too,  for  the  view  was  glorious,  the 
sunlight,  the  golden  sunlight  of  a  Chinese  afternoon, 
fell  on  range  after  range  of  softly  rounded  hills,  the 
air  was  so  clear  that  miles  and  miles  away  I  could 
see  their  folds,  with  here  and  there  a  purple  shadow, 
and  here  and  there  the  golden  light.  And  over  all 
was  the  arc  of  the  blue  sky.  Beautiful,  most  beau- 
tiful it  was,  and  I  was  only  regretful  that,  like  so 
many  of  the  beautiful  things  I  have  seen  in  life,  I 
looked  on  it  alone.  I  shall  never  look  on  it  again. 
The  journey  is  too  arduous,  too  difficult,  but  I 
am  glad,  very  glad  indeed,  that  I  have  seen  it 
once. 

But  it  was  getting  late.  At  the  bottom  of  the  pass 
I  got  into  my  cart,  and  was  driven  along  a  disused 
mountain  torrent  that  occupied  the  bed  of  the  valley 
under  a  line  of  trees  just  bursting  into  leaf.  The 
shadows  were  long  with  the  coming  night,  and  at 
last  we  forded  a  shallow  river  and  came  into  the 
dusty,  dirty  town  of  Cheng  Teh  Fu,  an  unwalled 
town  beyond  which  is  Jehol,  the  Hunting  Palace  of 
the  Manchu  Emperors. 

Here  there  were  thousands  of  soldiers,  not  like 
my  "  cavalry,"  but  modern,  khaki-clad  men  like  those 
in  Peking,  gathered  together  to  go  against  the 
Mongols,  for  China  was  at  war,  and  apparently  was 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS   251 

getting  the  worst  of  it,  and  the  air  was  ringing  with 
bugle  calls. 

And  then  Tuan  and  I  had  an  argument.  He 
wanted  me  to  go  to  an  inn.  The  streets  were  dusty, 
dirty,  evil-smelling,  I  was  weary  to  death,  my  dress 
had  been  rubbed  into  holes  by  the  jolting  of  the 
cart,  and  my  flesh  rebelled  at  the  very  thought  of  a 
Chinese  inn.  But  what  was  I  to  do?  There  were 
no  Europeans  in  Jehol  save  the  missionaries,  and  I 
was  so  very  sure  it  was  wasted  labour  to  try  and 
convert  the  Chinese  it  seemed  unfair  to  go  to  the 
mission  station. 

And  then  I  suddenly  felt  I  must  speak  to  someone, 
must  hear  my  own  tongue  again,  must  be  sympath- 
ised with,  by  a  woman  if  possible,  and  in  spite  of  the 
protests  of  Tuan  who  saw  all  chance  of  squeeze  at 
an  end,  I  made  them  turn  the  mules'  heads  to  the 
mission. 

There  a  sad,  sweet-faced  woman  gave  me,  a  total 
stranger,  the  kindest  and  warmest  of  welcomes, 
and  I  paid  off  the  "  cartee  men."  For  sixty  dollars 
they  had  brought  me  two  hundred  and  eighty  miles, 
mostly  across  the  mountains,  they  had  been  honest, 
hard-working,  attentive,  patient,  and  good- 
tempered,  and  for  a  cumskaw  of  five  dollars  they 
bowed  themselves  to  the  ground.  I  know  they  got 
it,  because  I  took  the  precaution  to  pay  them  myself, 
and  as  I  watched  them  go  away  down  the  street  I 
made  a  solemn  vow  that  never  again  would  I  travel 
in  the  mountains,  and  never,  never  again  would  I 
submit  myself  to  the  tender  mercies  of  a  Peking 
cart.  It  is  one  of  the  things  I  am  glad  I  have  done, 
but  I  am  glad  also  it  is  behind  me  with  no  necessity 
to  do  again. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

"  TO    THE    GREEKS,    FOOLISHNESS  " 

Missionary  compound — Prayer—Reputed  dangers  of  the  way— The 
German  girl— Midwife— The  Bible  as  a  guide — "  My  yoke  is 
easy,  My  burden  is  light  " — A  harem — Helping  the  sick  and 
afflicted — A  case  of  hysteria — Drastic  remedies — Ensuring 
a  livelihood — "  Strike,  strike  " — Barbaric  war-song — The 
Chinese  soldier — The  martyrdom  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
priest. 

AND  with  my  entrance  into  that  missionary  com- 
pound I  entered  a  world  as  strange  to  me  as  the 
Eastern  world  I  had  come  across  two  continents 
to  see. 

The  compound  is  right  in  the  heart  of  the  town, 
and  was  originally  a  Chinese  inn,  built,  in  spite  of 
the  rigour  of  the  climate,  Chinese  fashion,  so  that 
to  go  from  one  room  to  the  other  it  was  necessary 
to  go  out  of  doors.  The  walls  looking  on  to  the 
street  were  blank,  except  in  the  room  I  occupied, 
where  was  a  small  window,  so  high  up  I  could  not 
see  out  of  it.  How  it  must  be  to  pass  from  one  room 
to  the  other  when  the  bitter  winter  of  Northern  China 
holds  the  mountains  in  its  grip,  I  do  not  know. 

I  walked  in  out  of  the  unknown  and  there  came 
forward  to  meet  me  that  sad-looking  woman  with 
the  soft  brown  eyes  and  bright  red  lips.  Take  me 
in,  yes,  indeed  she  would  take  me  in.  I  was  dusty, 
I  was  torn,  and  I  think  I  was  more  weary  than  I 

252 


"TO  THE  GREEKS,  FOOLISHNESS"  258 

have  ever  been  in  my  life,  and  she  made  me  wel- 
come, made  me  lie  down  in  a  long  chair,  and  had 
tea  brought  in.  A  tall  buxom  German  girl  entered, 
and  then  to  my  surprise,  and  not  a  little  to  my  dis- 
comfort, my  hostess  bowed  her  head,  and  thanked 
God  openly  that  I  had  come  through  the  dangers  of 
the  way,  and  been  brought  safely  to  their  compound ! 
For  a  moment  it  took  my  breath  away,  and  so  self- 
conscious  was  I,  that  I  did  not  know  which  way  to 
look.  My  father  was  a  pillar  of  the  Church  of 
England,  Chancellor  of  the  Diocese  in  which  we 
lived,  and  I  had  been  brought  up  straitly  in  the  fold, 
among  a  people  who,  possibly,  felt  deeply  on  occa- 
sion, but  who  never^  never  would  have  dreamt  of 
applying  religion  personally  and  openly  to  each 
other.  Frankly  I  felt  very  uncomfortable  after  I 
had  been  prayed  over,  and  it  seemed  a  sort  of  bathos 
to  go  on  calmly  drinking  tea  and  eating  bread  and 
jam.  The  German  girl  had  just  arrived,  and  they 
heard  that  the  day  after  she  had  left  Peking,  the 
German  Consul  had  sent  round  to  the  mission 
station,  where  she  had  been  staying,  to  cancel  her 
passport,  and  to  say  that  on  no  account  must  she  go 
to  Jehol  as  the  country  was  too  disturbed.  How- 
ever she  and  her  escort,  one  of  the  missionaries,  had 
come  through  quite  safely,  and  the  Tartar  General 
in  charge  here  had  said  she  might  stay  so  long  as 
she  did  not  go  outside  the  boundaries  of  the  town. 
But  naturally,  they  were  much  surprised  to  see  me, 
a  woman  and  alone. 

I  looked  round  the  room,  the  general  sitting- 
room,  a  bare  stone-floored  room,  with  a  mat  or  two 
upon  it,  a  little  cane  furniture,  a  photograph  or  two, 
and  some  texts  upon  the  walls,  a  harmonium,  a 


254  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

couple  of  tables,  and  a  book-case  containing  some 
very  old-fashioned  books,  mostly  of  a  religious 
tendency,  and  some  stories  fyy  A.L.O.E.  There 
was  a  time  when  I  thought  A.L.O.E.'s  stories 
wonderful,  and  so  I  read  one  or  two  of  them  while 
I  was  here,  and  wondered  what  it  was  that  had 
charmed  me  when  I  was  eleven. 

The  only  other  woman  in  that  compound,  beside 
my  hostess,  was  the  German  girl  who  had  come  out 
to  help. 

"  I  gave  myself  to  the  Lord  for  China,"  she  said, 
and  she  spoke  simply  and  quietly,  as  if  she  were 
saying  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world,  as  if 
there  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  value  of  the  gift — 
truly  it  was  her  all,  she  could  not  give  more.  And 
the  Chinese  did  need  her,  I  think — that  is  only  my 
opinion — but  not  exactly  in  the  way  she  counted 
most  important.  She  had  taken  the  precaution  to 
become  a  midwife,  and  indeed  she  must  be  a  god- 
send, for  Chinese  practices  are  crude  and  cruel  in 
the  extreme.  It  is  the  child  that  counts,  the  mother, 
even  in  her  hour  of  travail,  must  literally  make  no 
moan.  A  woman  once  told  me  how  she  went  to 
see  her  amah,  who  was  expecting  a  baby,  and  she 
was  asked  to  wait.  She  waited  about  an  hour,  for 
she  was  anxious  about  the  woman,  and  the  room 
was  very  still,  there  was  no  sound  till  the  silence 
was  broken  by  the  first  cry  of  the  new-born  infant. 
The  child  had  been  born  behind  the  screen  while 
she  waited,  and  an  hour  later,  to  her  horror,  the 
white-faced  young  mother  was  up  and  preparing  to 
cook  the  family  evening  meal.  The  woman  would 
not  have  cried  out  for  the  world.  No  Chinese 
woman  would.  If  poor  human  flesh  is  weak,  and  a 


"TO  THE  GREEKS,  FOOLISHNESS  "  255 

sigh  of  pain  escape  her,  her  mother-in-law  will  cover 
her  mouth  with  her  hand,  but  mostly  the  woman  will 
gag  herself  with  her  long  black  hair,  she  will  not 
disgrace  herself  by  a  cry  as  long  as  her  senses  are 
with  her.  It  is  all  very  well  to  say  the  Chinese  do 
not  suffer  as  white  women  suffer.  They  are  not 
like  the  sturdy  negro  women  who  have  lived  a 
primitive,  open-air  life,  walk  like  queens,  and  have 
exercised  every  muscle.  They  are  the  crippled 
products  of  an  effete  civilisation,  who  spend  long 
hours  on  the  k'ang,  and  go  as  little  as  possible  from 
their  own  compound.  To  those  women  that  German 
girl  will  be  a  blessing  untold.  I  think  of  their  bodies 
while  she  labours  for  their  souls.  Anyway  she  is 
surely  sent  by  God. 

There  were  two  men  here  to  make  up  the  comple- 
ment, one  was  my  missionary's  husband,  a  man  who 
takes  the  Bible  for  his  guide  in  everything,  the  Bible 
as  it  is  translated  into  the  English  tongue.  He  does 
not  read  primarily  for  the  beauty  of  the  language,  for 
the  rhythm,  for  the  poetry,  for  the  Eastern  glamour 
that  is  over  all.  He  reads  it,  he  would  tell  you 
himself,  for  the  truth.  It  is  to  him  the  most  impor- 
tant thing  in  the  world ;  he  quotes  it,  he  lives  by  it, 
it  is  never  out  of  his  thoughts,  he  might  be  a  Cove- 
nanter of  old  Puritan  days.  And  the  fourth  mission- 
ary is  a  man  of  the  world.  I  don't  think  he  realises 
it  himself,  but  he  is.  He  had  lived  there  many 
years,  had  married  a  wife  and  brought  up  children 
there,  and  now  had  sent  them  home  to  be  educated, 
and  he  himself  talked,  not  of  the  Bible,  though  I 
doubt  not  he  is  just  as  keen  as  the  other,  but  of 
the  people,  and  their  manner  of  life,  and  their 
customs,  of  the  country,  and  of  the  strangers  he  had 


256  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

met,  the  changes  he  had  seen,  and,  when  I  questioned 
him,  of  the  escape  of  himself  and  his  family  from  the 
Boxers. 

For  the  souls  and  bodies  of  these  wretched,  miser- 
able, uncomprehending  Chinese,  who  very  likely, 
at  the  bottom  of  their  hearts,  pity  the  strangers 
because  they  were  not  born  in  the  Flowery  Land, 
these  devoted  people  work — work  and  pray— day  and 
night.  The  result  is  not  great. 

"  They  will  not  hear  the  truth.  Their  eyes  are 
blind.  They  worship  idols,"  they  told  me  of  the 
majority.  But  they  give  kindliness,  and  in  all 
probability,  for  it  is  seldom  that  faithful,  honest 
kindliness  fails  in  its  purpose,  they  make  a  greater 
impression  than  they  or  I  realise. 

True  they  believe  firmly  in  the  old  Hebrew  idea 
of  a  "  jealous  God,"  but  they  themselves  are  more 
tender  than  the  God  they  preach.  For  all  of  them, 
it  seemed  to  me,  life  is  hard,  unless  they  have 
greater  joy  in  the  service  than  I ,  "  a  Greek  "  could 
understand,  but  for  the  older  woman  it  must  be 
hardest  of  all. 

"  My  yoke  is  easy,  My  burden  is  light,"  said  the 
Master  she  followed,  but  the  burden  of  this  woman, 
away  up  in  the  mountains  of  Northern  China,  is  by 
no  means  light.  The  community  is  so  small,  they 
do  not  belong  to  the  China  Inland  Mission  but  call 
themselves  "The  Brethren,"  the  nearest  white  man 
is  two  days  away  hard  travelling  across  the  moun- 
tains, so  that  perforce  the  life  is  lonely.  Day  in 
and  day  out  they  must  live  here  for  seven  years 
among  an  alien  people ;  a  people  who  come  to  them 
for  aid  and  yet  despise  them.  And  because  they 
would  put  no  more  stumbling-blocks  in  the  way  of 


"TO  THE  GREEKS,  FOOLISHNESS"  257 

bringing  the  Chinese  to  listen  to  the  message  they 
bring,  these  missionaries  conform,  as  much  as  they 
can,   to    Chinese   custom.     Very  seldom   does   this 
woman  walk  abroad  with  her  husband — it  would  not 
be  the  thing — women  and  men  do  not  walk  together 
in  China.     If  she  goes  outside  the  missionary  com- 
pound she  must  be  accompanied  by  another  woman, 
and   she    puts    on   some    loose    coat,    because    the 
Chinese  would  be  shocked  at  any  suggestion  of  the 
outline    of   a   figure.      Also    she    looks    neither    to 
the  right  nor  the  left,  and  does  not  appear  to  notice 
anything,  because  a  well-behaved  woman  in  China 
never  looks  about  her.     She   considers,    too,  very 
carefully  her  goings,  she  would  not  walk  through 
the  town  at  the  hour  when  the  men  are  going  about 
their   business,    the    hour   that    I    found    the    most 
interesting,  and  invariably  chose,  no  boy  may  bring 
her  tea  to  her  bedroom — it  would  not  be  right — and 
she  has  none  of  the  arrogance  of  the  higher  race 
who  think  what  they  do  must  be  right  and  expect 
the  natives  of  the  land  to  fall  into  line.     No,  she 
conforms,    always    conforms   to   the    uncomfortable 
customs  of  the  Chinese,  and  when  any  man  above 
the  rank  of  the  poorest  comes  to   call  upon  her 
husband,  she  and  the  girl  are  hustled  out  of  the  way 
and  are  as  invisible  as  if  he  kept  a  harem.     It  often 
occurred  to  me  that  the  Chinese  thought  he  did. 
Even  in  the  church  the  women  are  screened  off  from 
the  men,  and  if  a  man  adheres  to  the  customs  of  the 
country  so  closely  in  everything  they  can  see,  it  is 
natural  to   suppose  they  will  give  him   credit  for 
adhering   to   them   in    all  things.     But    they   must 
think,  at  least,  he  has  selected  his  womenkind  with 
a  view  to  their  welfare^  for  the  older  woman  has  had 


258  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

a  little  medical  training,  and  simple  cases  of  sickness 
she  can  deal  with,  while  the  German  girl,  as  I  have 
said,  is  a  certified  midwife.  The  other  man  too, 
though  not  a  doctor,  has  some  little  knowledge  of 
the  more  simple  eye  diseases. 

And  they  are  grateful,  the  poor  Chinese,  for  the 
sympathy  they  get  from  these  kindly  missionaries, 
who  openly  say  they  tend  their  poor  bodies  because 
they  feel  that  so  only  can  they  get  at  their  souls.  They 
come  to  the  little  dispensary  in  crowds,  come  twenty 
miles  over  the  mountains,  and  they  bring  there  the 
diseases  of  a  slum  people,  coughs  and  colds,  pleurisy 
and  pneumonia,  internal  complaints  and  the  diseases 
of  filth — here  in  the  clean  mountains — itch  and  the 
like.  Many  have  bad  eyes,  many  granulated  lids., 
and  there  is  many  a  case  of  hideous  goitre.  While 
I  was  there  a  man,  old  and  poor,  tramped  one 
hundred  miles  across  the  mountains ;  he  was  blind, 
with  frightfully  granulated  lids,  and  he  had  heard  of 
the  skill  of  the  missionaries.  There  are  also  well- 
to-do  people  here,  who  sometimes  seek  aid  from 
them,  though  as  a  rule,  it  is  the  lower  class  they 
come  in  contact  with. 

But  the  ailments  of  the  rich  are  different.  I 
remember  my  missionary  woman  was  called  in  to  see 
a  girl  about  twenty,  the  daughter  of  a  high-class 
Manchu.  The  girl  had  hiccough.  It  came  on  regu- 
larly about  four  o'clock  every  afternoon,  and  con- 
tinued, if  I  remember  rightly,  three  or  four  hours. 
She  was  well  and  strong,  she  had  everything  the 
heart  of  a  Chinese  woman  could  desire,  she  was 
never  required  to  do  one  stroke  of  work,  but  she 
was  not  married.  The  Manchus  have  fallen  on  evil 
times  and  find  some  difficulty  in  marrying  their 


"TO  THE  GREEKS,  FOOLISHNESS"  259 

daughters.  So  this  girl,  the  daughter  of  well-to-do 
people,  was  necessary  to  no  one,  not  even  to  herself, 
and  the  missionary,  finding  she  spent  the  greater 
part  of  her  time  lying  idly  upon  the  k'ang,  diag- 
nosed hysteria,  and  prescribed  a  good  brisk  walk 
every  day.  The  proud  Manchu,  who  was  her 
mother,  looked  at  the  woman  she  had  called  in  to 
help  her,  scornfully. 

"My  daughter,"  she  said  drawing  herself  up  to 
her  full  height,  and  the  Manchus  are  tall  women, 
"  cannot  walk  in  the  streets.  It  would  not  be 
seemly." 

The  missionary  looked  at  her  a  little  troubled. 

"  At  least,"  she  said^  "  she  can  walk  in  the  court- 
yard and  play  with  her  brother's  children." 

But  the  girl  looked  at  her  with  weary  eyes.  There 
was  no  excitement  in  playing  with  her  brother's 
children,  and  she  could  not  see  the  good  to  be  got 
out  of  walking  aimlessly  round  the  courtyard.  Poor 
Manchu  maid !  What  had  she  expected  ? 

"  If  the  prophet  had  bid  thee  do  some  great  thing, 
wouldst  thou  not  have  done  it?  " 

"  I  could  do  no  good,"  said  the  missionary  sorrow- 
fully, "  and  they  would  not  listen  to  my  message." 

The  Chinese  have  their  own  remedies  for  many 
diseases,  and  some  of  them  the  missionaries  told  me 
were  good,  but  many  were  too  drastic,  and  many 
were  wickedly  dangerous.  When  an  eye  is  red  and 
bloodshot  for  instance,  they  will  break  a  piece  of 
crockery  and  pierce  the  eye  with  it,  and  in  all  prob- 
ability the  unfortunate  loses  his  sight.  No  wonder 
they  come  miles  and  miles,  however  rough  the  way, 
to  submit  themselves  to  gentler  treatment.  I  have 
known  even  women  with  bound  feet  toil  twenty  miles 


260  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

to  see  them  about  some  ailment.  Of  course  their 
feet  are  not  as  badly  bound  as  some,  for  there  are 
many  women  in  China  who  cannot  walk  at  all.  I 
talked  with  a  man  once  who  told  me  he  had  just  been 
called  upon  to  congratulate  a  man  because  he  had 
married  a  wife  who  could  not  get  across  the  room 
by  herself.  She,  naturally,  was  a  lady  with  slaves 
to  wait  upon  her.  These  Chinese  women  of  the 
mountains  of  the  poorer  classes — the  Manchus  do  not 
bind  their  feet — must  be  able  to  move  about  a  little, 
for  there  is  a  certain  amount  of  work  they  must  do. 

"  A  hundred  thousand  medical  missionaries,"  said 
this  man,  "  are  wanted  in  China,  for  the  teeming 
population  suffers  from  its  ignorance,  it  suffers 
because  it  is  packed  so  tightly  together;  the  women 
suffer  from  the  custom  that  presses  so  heavily,  and 
it  suffers  from  its  own  dirt." 

Up  here  at  Jehol  the  suffering  is  apparently  as 
bad  as  anywhere,  and  the  dispensary  is  full  with 
all  the  minor  ailments  that  come  within  the  range 
of  the  missionaries'  simple  skill,  and  all  the  cruel 
diseases  that  are  quite  beyond  them,  that  they  can- 
not touch,  and  they  do  their  best  in  all  pity  and  love, 
and  yet  think  that  they  are  doing  a  greater  thing 
than  binding  up  a  man's  wounds  when  they  can 
induce  him  to  come  to  their  prayer-meetings,  which 
go  along,  side  by  side,  with  the  dispensary. 

I,  a  heathen  and  a  "Greek,"  question  whether 
the  Chinese  ever  receives  Christianity.  A  Chinese 
gentleman,  a  graduate  of  Cambridge,  once  told  me 
he  did  not  think  he  ever  did. 

"  But  the  Chinaman,"  said  he,  he  actually  used  the 
contemned  word,  *"'  is  a  practical  man,  he  receives 
all  faiths.  Some  may  be  right,  and  when  he  thinks 


.. 


TO  THE  GREEKS,  FOOLISHNESS  "  261 


he  is  dying,  he  will  send  for  a  priest  of  every  faith 
he  knows  of  to  help  him  across  the  dark  river.  Who 
knows,  some  of  them  may  chance  to  be  right,"  and 
he  laughed.  He  himself  was  of  the  faith  so  many  of 
us  of  this  modern  world  have  attained  to,  seeing  the 
good  in  so  many  faiths,  seeing  the  beauty  and  the 
pity  of  them  and  standing  aside  and  crying :  "  Why 
all  this?  Whither  are  we  bound?  What  can  it 
matter  whether  this  poor  coolie  believes  in  Christ, 
or  Buddha,  or  the  cold  ethics  of  Confucius?"  I 
said  this  to  my  missionary  woman  one  day  and  she 
looked  at  me  with  horror  in  her  eyes. 

"  There  will  be  a  reaping  some  day,"  she  said. 
"  Where  will  you  be  then?" 

"  Surely  I  cannot  be  blamed  for  using  the  reason- 
ing powers  God  has  given."  But  I  am  sure  she 
thought  my  reasoning  powers  came  from  the  devil, 
and  if  I  hadn't  been  getting  used  to  it  I  should  have 
been  made  uncomfortable  by  being  prayed  for  as 
one  in  outer  darkness. 

It  is  the  worship  of  the  ancestors  that  holds  the 
Chinese,  the  man  who  gives  up  that,  gives  up  all 
family  ties  and  becomes  practically  an  outcast. 
There  may  be  a  few  genuine  Christians,  but  in 
proportion  to  the  money  spent  upon  their  conver- 
sion, their  number  must  be  very  small.  I  saw  the 
colporteur  come  into  the  compound  one  day,  and 
they  told  me  he  was  an  earnest  Christian.  He 
might  be,  but  again  that  doubt  arose  in  my  mind. 
If  the  receiving  of  Christianity  ensures  a  livelihood, 
could  you  expect  one  of  a  nation,  who  will  be  made 
a  eunuch  for  the  same  reason,  to  reject  it. 

The  missionaries  had  a  hard  time  when  first  they 
came  here.  The  place  is  inhabited  by  Manchus, 


262  A  WOMAN   IN  CHINA 

full  of  the  pride  of  race,  and  they  do  not  want  the 
outsider.  They  use  them,  as  they  have  effected  a 
settlement,  but  they  do  not  approve  of  their  being 
there. 

As  I  and  my  saintly  missionary  walked  down  the 
street,  she  carefully  avoiding  a  glance  either  to  the 
right  or  the  left,  a  little  half-naked  child  ;at  his 
mother's  side  looked  at  her  and  cried  aloud : 

:'  Ta,  ta,"  and  he  said  it  vehemently  again  and 
again. 

She  stopped,  spoke  to  the  mother,  and  evidently 
remonstrated,  and  the  woman  laughed  and  passed 
along  on  her  high  Manchu  shoes  without  correcting 
the  child. 

She  looked  troubled.  "What  did  he  say?"  I 
asked. 

"  Strike,  strike !  or  some  people  might  say  '  kill, 
kill !  '  I  said  to  the  woman :  '  What  bad  manners  is 
this?' 

And  the  woman  had  only  laughed!  After  all  her 
kindness  and  tenderness,  all  her  consideration  and 
care ;  I  should  have  thought  the  very  children 
would  have  worshipped  the  ground  she  walked 
upon. 

They  are  holding  their  own,  they  say.  In  the 
compound  are  a  couple  of  Chinese  women,  the  wives 
of  their  teachers  or  servants,  and  they  have  had  to 
unbind  their  feet,  a  process  almost  as  painful  as  the 
binding.  One  old  woman  could  not  unbind  hers, 
they  told  me,  because  so  long  had  they  been  bound 
the  feet  split  when  she  attempted  to  walk  upon  them 
unbound,  but  so  true  a  Christian  is  she,  she  puts  her 
tiny  feet  inside  big  shoes.  But  to  balance  her,  their 
amah,  a  Manchu,  is  still  a  heathen.  After  the 


MANCHU   WOMAN   AND   CHILD    IN    MISSIONARY    COMPOUND. 


MANCHU  AND  CHINESE  WOMEN    IN   MISSIONARY   COMPOUND. 


<TO  THE  GREEKS,  FOOLISHNESS"  268 

years,  the  years  they  had  been  striving  there,  they 
could  not  find  one  who  has  embraced  their  faith  to 
wait  upon  them. 

In  truth  it  was  a  hard  faith,  morning,  noon,  and 
night,  they  prayed,  morning,  noon,  and  night,  it 
seemed  to  me  from  the  little  meeting-house  went 
up  the  sound  of  hymns  and  prayers,  not  even  in 
Christian  England,  England  that  has  held  the  faith 
for  over  a  thousand  years  would  so  many  services 
have  been  attended,  could  they  expect  it  of  the 
Chinese  ? 

In  the  evening,  when  the  night  fell,  we  sat  in  the 
compound  and  talked,  I,  who  was  cold  and  reason- 
able, and  they  who  were  enthusiasts,  for  to  them  had 
come  the  call,  that  mysterious  crying  for  the  un- 
known that  comes  to  all  peoples  and  all  classes,  and 
is  called  by  such  different  names. 

"  I  have  given  myself  to  the  Lord  for  China." 
And  outside  the  house  the  watchman  beat  his  gong, 
not  to  frighten  off  thieves,  as  I  at  first  thought,  but 
to  keep  away  the  devils  who  help  the  "  stealer  man," 
for  he  cannot  alone  carry  out  his  nefarious  designs, 
the  wonks,  the  scavenger  dogs  made  the  night 
hideous  by  their  howling,  and  the  soldiers,  of  whom 
the  town  was  full,  sang  their  new  war-song — wild 
and  barbaric. 

"  I  do  not  like  it,"  said  she  of  the  sad  eyes  and 
red  lips,  "  I  do  not  like  it.  It  does  not  sound 


true." 


And  I,  who  had  not  got  to  live  there,  did  not  like 
it  either,  but  it  was  because  it  did  sound  to  me  true 
— it  sounded  fierce  and  merciless.  What  might  not 
men,  who  sang  like  that,  do? 

"  The  Chinese  soldier  is  a  baby,"  said  a  Chinese 


264  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

to  me,  but  that  is  when  he  is  among  his  own  particu- 
lar people  at  home. 

"  Chinese  soldiers,"  said  another  man,  a  foreigner, 
"are  always  robbers  and  banditti." 

And  there  is  truth  in  that  last  statement,  possibly 
there  is  truth  in  both,  for  children,  unguided  and 
unbridled,  with  the  strength  and  passions  of  men, 
are  dangerous  to  let  loose  upon  a  community. 

We  are  beginning  to  look  upon  China  as  a  land 
at  peace.  We  talk  about  her  "  bloodless  revolu- 
tion," yet  even  as  I  write  these  words  I  see,  sitting 
opposite  to  me,  my  friend  who  was  one  of  the  rescue- 
party,  the  gallant  nine,  who  rode  post-haste  to  Hsi 
An  Fu  to  rescue  the  missionaries  cut  off  by  the  tide 
of  the  revolution,  and  I  know  the  peace  of  China  is 
not  as  the  peace  of  a  Western  land. 

Hsi  An  Fu  is  situated  in  Shensi,  roughly,  about 
a  fortnight's  journey  from  the  nearest  railway,  with 
walls  that  rival  those  of  Peking,  and  like  Peking, 
with  a  Manchu  City  walled  off  inside  those  walls. 
There  on  the  22nd  October,  1911,  the  Revolution- 
aries, the  apostles  of  progress,  shut  fast  the  gates  of 
the  inner  city  and  butchered  the  Manchus  within  the 
walls.  From  house  to  house  they  went,  and  slew 
them  all,  old  women  on  the  brink  of  the  grave  and 
the  tiny  infant  smiling  in  its  mother's  arms.  Not 
one  was  spared.  No  cries  for  mercy  were  listened 
to.  "Kill,  kill!"  was  the  cry  that  bright  autumn 
Sunday ;  men,  women,  and  children  were  slain,  the 
streets  ran  with  their  blood,  the  reek  of  slaughter 
went  up  to  heaven,  and  the  Manchus  were  exter- 
minated. 

The  movement  was  not  anti-foreign,  but  the  plight 
of  the  missionaries  well  illustrates  the  danger  every 


.. 


TO  THE  GREEKS,  FOOLISHNESS  "  265 


foreigner  faces  in  China.  The  bulk  of  the  people 
are  peaceful.  Nowhere  in  the  world,  I  suppose,  is 
a  more  peaceful  person  to  be  found  than  the  average 
Chinese  peasant.  He  asks  only  to  be  let  alone,  but, 
unfortunately,  he  is  not  let  alone.  His  rulers 
"  squeeze  "  and  oppress  him,  bands  of  robbers  take 
toll  of  his  pittance,  and  when  an  unpaid  soldiery  is 
let  loose  upon  him,  his  plight  is  pitiable.  It  is 
certainly  understandable,  if  not  pardonable,  that  he 
in  his  turn,  takes  to  pillage,  and  pillage  leads  to 
murder.  He  is  only  a  puppet  in  the  hands  of  others. 
One  man  alone  may  be  kindly  enough  but  the  man 
who  is  one  of  a  mob,  is  swayed  by  the  passions  of  that 
mob,  or  the  passions  of  its  leader.  So  it  was  at  Hsi 
An  Fu.  Party  feeling  ran  high.  There  were  really 
three  parties,  the  Manchus,  the  Revolutionaries,  and 
the  Secret  Society,  the  Elder  Brother  Society,  who 
are  always  anti-foreign  and  who,  here  in  Hsi  An 
Fu,  for  whatever  purpose  they  might  originally  have 
banded  themselves  together,  were  virtually  a  band 
of  robbers,  mainly  intent  on  filling  their  own  pockets. 
The  Revolutionaries  declared  that  the  foreigners 
should  be  protected,  but — and  again  the  menace  of 
China  to  the  white  man  is  felt — in  the  rush  and 
tumult  of  the  battle,  many  of  their  followers  did  not 
realise  this.  This  was  the  time  to  wreak  private 
vengeance,  and  it  was  fiercely  taken  advantage  of. 
When  thousands  of  helpless  people,  closer  akin  to 
the  slayers  than  the  foreigners,  were  being  given 
pitilessly  to  the  sword,  who  was  likely  to  take  much 
account  of  a  handful  of  missionaries. 

There  was  outside  the  city  in  the  south  suburb  a 
small  school  for  the  teaching  of  the  Swedish  mission- 
aries' children,  and  the  head  of  that  school  had, 


266  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

some  little  time  before,  had  a  camera  stolen.  He 
reported  it  to  the  police,  and  being  dissatisfied  with 
the  lax  way  the  man  at  the  head  of  the  district  took 
the  matter  up,  went  to  his  superior  officer.  Now 
in  these  disturbed  times,  the  man  who  had  "  lost  face  " 
saw  his  way  to  vengeance,  and,  being  in  sympathy 
with  the  Revolutionaries,  and  knowing  the  exact 
hour  of  the  outbreak,  he  ordered  the  villagers  round 
the  south  suburb,  every  family,  to  send  at  least  one 
man  to  help  exterminate  the  foreigners.  "  It  was 
an  order,"  and  the  villagers  responded.  The  school 
was  the  first  place  attacked,  for  not  only  did  this 
man  seek  vengeance,  but  the  humble  possessions  of 
the  missionaries  seemed  to  the  poorer  Chinese  to  be 
wealth  well  worth  looting.  Therefore  that  Sunday 
at  midnight  a  mob  attacked  the  school  premises. 
The  missionaries,  Mr  and  Mrs  Beckman  and  Mr 
Watne,  the  tutor,  were  helpless  before  the  crowd, 
and  hid  in  a  tool-house,  but  they  were  discovered 
and  ran  out,  making  for  a  high  wall  that  surrounded 
the  compound.  Mr  Watne  got  astride  of  this  and 
handed  over  Mr  Beckman's  eldest  daughter,  a  tall 
girl  of  twelve,  but,  before  he  could  get  the  other 
children,  the  crowd  rushed  them,  and  he  was  tumbled 
over  the  wall,  making  his  escape  with  the  girl  to 
another  village  some  way  off  while  the  mob  swept 
over  the  rest,  scattering  them  far  and  wide.  Mr 
Beckman,  a  particularly  tall,  stalwart  man,  con- 
siderably over  six  feet  high,  had  his  youngest  child, 
a  baby,  in  his  arms,  and  the  people  gave  way  before 
him,  closing  in  on  the  unfortunates  who  were 
following.  It  is  impossible  for  an  outsider  to  tell 
the  tale  of  that  massacre,  for  massacre  it  was,  the 
people  falling  upon  and  doing  to  death  the  unfor- 


"TO  THE  GREEKS,  FOOLISHNESS"  267 

tunate  woman  and  the  children  who  were  clustering 
round  her.  The  darkness  was  filled  with  the  fierce 
shouts  of  the  murderers,  and  every  now  and  again 
they  were  broken  in  upon  by  the  terrified  wail  of  a 
child  butchered  with  none  to  help. 

"  Ta,  ta,"  cried  the  people,  and  they  struck  merci- 
lessly, with  spades  and  reaping  hooks  and  knives, 
the  weak  and  helpless,  and  dodged  out  of  the  way 
of  the  great,  strong  man  who  could  fight  a  little  for 
his  life  and  the  lives  of  those  dear  to  him. 

The  woman  and  the  children  were  slain  and  at  last 
he  was  hunted,  with  the  little  girl  still  in  his  arms, 
into  a  deep  pond  of  water  outside  the  suburb.  The 
mite  was  only  three  years  old,  and  the  distracted 
father,  wild  with  anxiety  for  his  wife  and  other 
children,  had  to  soothe  the  little  one  and  exhort  her 
to  be  quiet  and  not  to  cry,  for  the  pursuers  were 
lighting  fires  round  the  pond  to  find  them.  They 
lighted  three,  and  the  fires  probably  defeated  their 
own  end,  for  the  fugitive  managed  to  keep  out  of  the 
glare,  and  the  leaping  flames  deepened  the  darkness 
around.  The  baby  sheltered  in  her  father's  arms,  and 
in  spite  of  the  cold,  never  even  whimpered,  and  the 
water  was  so  deep  the  mob  dared  not  venture  in. 
Only  a  man  of  extraordinary  height  could  have  so 
saved  himself.  Hour  after  hour  of  the  bitter  cold 
autumn  night  passed  and  the  mob  dispersed  a  little. 
The  lust  for  killing  was  not  so  great  in  the  keen  Hours 
of  the  early  morning.  Then  the  first  silver  streaks, 
heralding  the  rising  of  the  moon,  appeared  in  the 
eastern  sky  and  the  distracted  man  made  his  way 
softly  to  a  bank  at  one  side,  and  reaching  up,  again 
only  a  tall  man  could  have  done  it,  laid  his  little 
girl  there.  But  the  child  who  had  been  so  good  in 


268  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

the  icy  water  while  she  was  against  his  breast  began 
to  fret  when  the  keen  morning  air  blew  through  her 
sodden  clothes  and  she  could  not  feel  her  father's 
arms  round  her,  and  he  had  to  take  her  back  and 
soothe  her.  But  at  last  he  persuaded  her  to  lie  still 
till  he  got  softly  out  of  the  water,  and  crept  round  to 
her.  He  was  not  followed,  the  pursuit  was  slacken- 
ing more  and  more,  and,  keeping  in  the  shadows,  he 
made  his  way  to  the  missionaries  in  the  western 
suburb.  He  thought  that  all  but  he  and  his  little 
girl  had  perished,  and  sad  to  say  they  did  not  know 
of  the  two  who  were  sheltering  in  a  village  some  miles 
away  in  the  country.  Here,  nearly  twelve  hours 
later,  the  pursuers  sought  them  out  and  stoned  them 
to  death. 

Meanwhile  rumours  of  what  was  happening  in 
the  southern  suburb  reached  the  missionaries  in  the 
eastern  suburb,  and  they,  taking  counsel  with  their 
native  helpers,  divided  themselves  into  three  parties, 
and  set  out  to  take  refuge  in  some  more  distant 
villages  where  the  people  were  reputed  Christians. 
They  had  gone  but  a  little  way,  when  the  carts  of 
two  of  the  parties  were  overtaken  by  a  mob,  who 
handled  them  somewhat  roughly,  took  all  their 
humble  possessions,  and  drove  them  back. 

"  Kill,  kill ! "  cried  the  pointing  people,  as  the  little 
helpless  company,  escorted  by  the  shouting,  threaten- 
ing mob  passed,  and  even  those  who  did  not  directly 
threaten,  seemed  to  have  no  hope. 

'  They  go  to  their  deaths,"  they  said,  looking  at 
them  curiously  as  men  look  upon  other  men  about 
to  die. 

The  missionaries  themselves  had  small  hope  of 
their  lives.  When  they  reached  the  first  mission- 


"TO  THE  GREEKS,  FOOLISHNESS"  269 

house  they  were  roughly  thrust  into  a  room  and  there 
guarded,  and  they  only  wondered  why  death  did  not 
come  swiftly  and  cut  short  the  agony  of  waiting. 

The  third  party  that  set  out  from  that  suburb  con- 
sisted of  the  Rev.  Donald  Smith,  his  wife,  and  some 
schoolgirls  they  were  escorting  back  to  their  homes, 
as  he  considered,  in  these  troublous  times,  they 
would  be  safer  with  their  own  people  than  in  the 
mission  school.  They  went  due  east,  and  had  not 
gone  three  miles  when  they  were  set  upon.  The 
girls  fled  in  all  directions,  but  the  attackers  only 
molested  the  foreigner  and  his  wife.  He  en- 
deavoured to  defend  her,  but  they  beat  him  so 
severely  that  both  his  arms  were  broken,  and  they 
were  both  left  for  dead  by  the  wayside.  Here  they 
were  found  by  some  friendly,  kindly  villagers — the 
average  Chinaman  is  kindly — who,  when  the  roughs 
were  gone,  came  to  their  rescue,  and  took  them  back 
to  the  eastern  suburb,  where  the  other  missionaries 
had  spent  a  terrible  two  hours,  momentarily  expect- 
ing the  mob  to  rush  in  and  kill  them. 

But  the  Chinese  are  a  cautious  people,  curious  in 
their  respect  for  precedent.  What  was  to  be  done 
with  these  foreigners.  Sometimes  the  foreigners  had 
been  slain,  but  then  again,  quite  as  often,  they  had 
been  guarded  and  kept  safely.  There  was  no  get- 
ting into  the  city.  The  gates  were  fast  locked  and 
were  kept  shut  for  days,  but  someone — very  probably 
a  well-wisher  to  the  missionaries — went  to  the  wall 
and  shouted  up  to  know  what  was  the  order  about 
foreigners?  Were  they  to  kill  them  or  were  they  to 
protect  them?  Back  came  the  response,  the  order 
was,  the  foreigners  were  to  be  protected,  and  when 
word  of  this  was  brought  back  to  the  mission  station, 


270  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

they  were  not  only  released,  but  the  property  of  which 
they  had  been  robbed  was  returned  to  them.  For 
those  who  had  looted  kept  it  intact  till  they  saw 
which  way  the  wind  blew. 

And  by  the  time  the  city  gates  were  opened  and 
order  was  restored,  it  was  understood,  by  the  procla- 
mation of  the  New  Republic,  that  all  foreigners  were 
to  be  protected. 

But  the  case  of  the  missionaries  in  Hsi  An  Fu 
graphically  illustrates  the  dangers  every  foreigner, 
missionary,  or  the  missionary's  bete  noire,  the  ubi- 
quitous cigarette-selling  British  American  Tobacco 
man,  runs  in  China,  where  the  civilisation,  the 
long-established  civilisation  is  that  of  Nineveh  or 
Babylon,  or  ancient  Egypt.  Not  that  the  foreigner 
runs  any  greater  risk  than  the  native  of  the  country, 
sometimes  he  runs  less,  because,  even  into  the  far 
interior,  a  glimmering  of  the  vengeance  the  Christian 
nations  take  for  their  martyred  brothers  has  pene- 
trated ;  but  life  in  China  is,  as  it  was  in  Nineveh  or 
Babylon,  not  nearly  as  sacred  as  it  is  in  the  West. 
The  life  of  a  poor  man,  one  of  the  luckless  proletariat, 
is  of  small  account  to  anyone.  A  disbanded  and  un- 
paid soldiery  are  for  ever  a  menace,  and  the  difference 
between  the  disciplined  soldier  and  the  unlicensed 
bandit  is  very,  very  small.  One  week  a  regiment  of 
soldiers  clamouring  for  their  pay,  the  next  a  band  of 
robbers  hiding  in  the  hills,  their  methods  ruthless,  for 
their  hand  is  against  every  man's  and  every  man's 
hand  is  agamst  them.  They  live  by  the  sword,  as 
they  perish  by  the  sword,  and  when  the  tide  of  law- 
lessness reaches  a  certain  height,  white  man  and 
yellow  alike  suffer,  but  we  take  count  only  of  the 
sufferings  of  our  own  people. 


"TO  THE  GREEKS,  FOOLISHNESS"  271 

Sitting  in  the  missionary  compound  up  at  Jehol  in 
the  evening,  I  thought  of  these  things  and  looked 
into  the  eyes  that  looked  into  mine,  the  kind,  brown 
eyes,  and  I  wondered  did  she  remember,  did  she  think 
of  them,  too.  I  looked  again,  and  I  knew  she 
remembered,  that  ever  with  her  was  the  thought  how 
cut  off  they  were  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  I 
read  there,  though  she  never  murmured,  fear.  For 
Jehol  has  its  traditions  of  sacrifice  and  martyrdom 
too.  Only  six  miles  away  at  a  village  on  the  Lanho, 
in  the  year  of  the  Boxer  trouble,  they  had  slowly 
buried  the  Catholic  priest  alive.  All  the  long  hot 
summer's  day  they  had  kept  him  tied  to  a  post,  slowly, 
to  prolong  his  agony,  heaping  up  the  earth  around 
him.  The  day  was  hot,  and  he  begged  for  water  as 
the  long,  weary,  hopeless  hours  dragged  themselves 
away.  And  some  of  them  had  loved  him. 

;'  You  might,"  said  a  man  looking  on,  "  give  him  a 
drink,  even  if  you  do  kill  him." 

And  they  turned  on  him  even  as  men  might  have 
done  in  the  days  of  the  Inquisition : 

"  If  you  say  any  more,  we  will  bury  you  beside 
him." 

And  so  he  died  a  cruel  death,  a  martyr,  for  there 
was  none  to  help,  and  when  the  Western  nations 
exacted  retribution,  they  made  the  people  put  up  a 
cross,  the  symbol  of  his  faith,  over  the  grave.  And 
then,  because  they  had  been  forced  to  do  it,  every 
villager  who  passed  that  monument  to  show  his  con- 
tempt for  the  foreigner  and  all  his  works  cast  a  stone, 
till  now  shape  and  inscription  have  both  gone,  and 
the  passer-by  cannot  tell  what  is  that  rough  rock, 
jagged  and  unshapely. 

Yet  here  among  these  selfsame  people,  four  and  a 


272  A  WOMAN   IN  CHINA 

half  days'  hard  journey  from  Peking,  far  beyond  all 
hope  of  help  from  the  foreign  soldiery,  dwell  these 
Christian  missionaries.  '  To  the  Greeks,  foolish- 
ness." But  could  they  better  demonstrate  the 
strength  of  their  faith  ? 


CHAPTER   XV 

A   VISIT   TO   THE   TARTAR   GENERAL 

Hsiung  Hsi  Ling,  Premier  of  China — Preparations  for  a  call — 
A  cart  of  State— An  elderly  mule — Waiting  in  the  gate— The 
yamen — Mr  Wu,  the  secretary — "Hallo,  Missus!" — The 
power  of  a  Chinese  General—'4  Plenty  robber,  too  much 
war  "—Ceremonial  farewell— A  cultivated  gentleman — Back 
to  past  ages  for  the  night. 

UP  in  Jehol  they  called  the  General  commanding 
the  three  thousand  odd  troops  the  Tartar  General, 
why  I  do  not  know,  but  it  seems  it  is  the  title  by  which 
he  is  commonly  known  among  the  country  people. 
He  was  Hsiung  Hsi  Ling,  the  man  who  is  now 
Premier  of  China,  and  to  him  I  brought  letters  of 
introduction  so  that  I  might  be  admitted  to  the 
Imperial  Palace  and  Park  and  be  treated  as  a  person 
of  consequence,  otherwise  I  imagine  a  foreigner  and 
a  woman  at  that  would  have  but  small  chance  of 
respect  in  China.  The  Chinese  letters  lifted  me  to 
the  rank  of  the  literati,  which  must  have  been  rather 
surprising  to  the  Chinese,  and  these  in  English  were 
such  that  I  felt  I  must  bear  myself  so  as  to  live  up  to 
them. 

The  yamen  was  about  five  minutes'  walk  from  the 
mission  station,  and  in  my  ignorance  I  had  thought 
I  would  stroll  up  some  morning  when  I  had  recovered 
from  the  fatigues  of  the  journey,  but  the  missionaries, 

373  s 


274  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

steeped  in  the  lore  of  Chinese  etiquette,  declared 
such  a  proceeding  was  not  suitable.  A  person  of 
consequence,  such  as  my  letters  proclaimed  me, 
must  bear  herself  more  becomingly. 

"  Write  and  ask  if  ten  o'clock  on  Tuesday  morn- 
ing will  be  a  suitable  time  for  you  to  call  on  the 
General,  and  send  your  letters  by  your  servant.  1 
dare  say  there  will  be  somebody  who  can  read  them, 
though  I  am  sure  there  will  be  nobody  who  can  write 
an  answer,"  said  the  missionary.  "  The  General's 
English-speaking  secretary  is  away." 

Accordingly  I  sent  off  Tuan,  who  was  more  than 
sure  that  he  was  equal  to  the  task,  and  he  returned 
without  a  letter,  as  the  missionary  had  prophesied, 
but  saying :  "  She  say  all  right." 

"And  now  you  must  have  a  cart,"  said  that 
missionary  who  was  more  worldly  wise  than  I  ex- 
pected an  enthusiast  to  be,  "  and  don't  get  down  till 
the  yamen  gates  are  opened.  It  would  never  do  to 
wait  with  the  servants  in  the  gate." 

How  Eastern  it  sounded !  And  then  his  wife  came 
and  superintended  my  toilet.  The  weather  was 
warm,  not  to  say  hot,  and  I  had  thought  a  black  and 
white  muslin  a  most  fitting  and  suitable  array.  But 
she  was  horrified  at  the  effect.  It  was  made  in  the 
mode  of  1913,  and  did  not  suggest,  as  the  long 
Manchu  robes  do,  that  I  was  built  like  a  pyramid, 
broadest  at  the  base. 

"  Haven't  you  got  a  coat  to  put  over  you,"  said  she 
looking  round,  and  she  seized  my  burberry  which 
was  the  only  thing  in  the  shape  of  a  wrap  I  had  with 
me.  Chinese  ideas  of  propriety  evidently  influenced 
her  very  strongly. 

I  declined  to  wear  a  burberry  on  a  hot  day  late  in 


THE  TARTAR   GENERAL          275 

May,  though  all  the  Chinese  Empire  were  shocked 
and  horrified  at  my  impropriety,  but  I  sought  round 
and  found  a  lace  veil  which,  draped  over  me,  was  a 
little  suggestive  of  a  bridal  festivity,  but  apparently 
satisfied  all  conditions,  and  then  I  went  out  to  mount 
into  that  abomination — a  Peking  cart.  The  Peking 
cart  that  is  used  for  visiting  has  a  little  trestle  carried 
over  the  back  end  of  the  shafts,  which  is  taken  down 
when  the  occupant  wishes  to  mount  and  dismount, 
so  I  got  into  the  seat  of  honour,  the  most  uncomfort- 
able seat  well  under  the  tilt,  and  Tuan,  glorious  in 
a  long  black  silk  brocade  robe,  his  queue  newly  oiled 
and  plaited,  and  a  big  straw  hat  upon  his  head, 
climbed  on  to  the  tail  of  the  shaft,  and  the  carter, 
dressed  in  the  ordinary  blue  of  his  class,  with  the 
ordinary  rag  over  his  head  to  keep  off  the  dust, 
walked  beside  the  most  venerable  white  mule  I  have 
ever  come  across.  I  don't  know  whether  aged 
animals  are  held  in  respect  in  China,  I'm  afraid  not. 
The  poor  old  thing  had  great  deep  hollows  over  his 
eyes.  I  suspect  Tuan  had  got  him  cheap,  because 
the  cart  was  respectable,  and  he  had  been  good 
once — of  course  he  would  never  have  let  me  lose 
face — and  then  he  made  me  pay  full  price,  a  whole 
fivepence  I  think  it  came  to. 

"  That's  a  very  old  mule,  Tuan,"  I  said. 

:'  Yes,"  he  assented,  "  very  old,  she  forty,"  which 
was  certainly  more  than  I  had  reckoned  him.  I 
afterwards  came  to  the  conclusion  he  meant  fourteen. 

What  Tuan  was  there  for,  1  certainly  don't  know, 
except  to  carry  my  card-case,  which  I  was  perfectly 
capable  of  carrying  myself. 

We  went  out  into  the  dusty,  mud-coloured  street, 
and  along  between  mud-coloured  walls  of  the 


276  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

dullest,  most  uninteresting  description,  and  presently 
we  arrived   at  the  yamen   gates,  and   here  it  was 
evident  that  Tuan,  who  had  been  so  important  all 
across  the  mountains,  was  now  quite  out  of  his  depth. 
"  Cart  no  can  go,"  said  he.     "  Missie  get  out." 
I  was  prepared  for  that.     "  No,"  I  said  very  im- 
portant for  once  in  my  life,  "  I  wait  till  someone 


comes." 


The  yamen  entrance  was  divided  into  three,  as  all 
Chinese  entrances  seem  to  be,  and  over  it  were 
curved  tiled  roofs  with  a  little  colouring,  faded  and 
shabby,  about  them ;  all  of  it  was  badly  in  need  of 
repair,  and  on  the  fast-closed  gates  in  the  middle 
were  representations  of  some  demon  apparently  in  a 
fit,  but  his  aspect  was  a  little  spoiled  by  the  want 
of  a  fresh  coat  of  paint.  The  two  little  gates  at 
either  side  were  open,  and  here  clustered  Chinese 
soldiers  in  khaki,  and  men  in  civilian  dress  of  blue 
cotton,  and  all  stared  at  the  foreign  woman  who  was 
not  a  missionary,  in  the  cart;  that  is  the  rude  ones 
stared,  and  the  polite  ones  looked  uncomfortably 
out  of  the  corners  of  their  eyes.  A  Chinaman's 
politeness  in  this  respect  always  ends  by  making  me 
uncomfortable.  A  good,  downright  stare  that  says 
openly:  "  I  am  taking  you  in  with  all  my  eyes,"  I 
can  stand,  but  the  man  who  looks  away  and  down 
and  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes  gets  on  my  nerves 
in  no  time. 

However,  this  time  I  had  not  long  to  wait.  After 
a  minute  or  two  out  came  a  messenger,  a  Chinese  of 
the  better  class,  for  he  was  dressed  in  a  bright  blue 
silk  coat  and  petticoats,  with  a  black  sleeveless  jacket 
over  it,  and  the  gates  at  his  command,  to  my  boy's 
immense  astonishment,  opened,  and  my  cart  rumbled 


THE  TARTAR   GENERAL          277 

into  the  first  courtyard.  We  went  on  into  a  second — 
bare,  ugly  courtyards  they  were,  without  a  flower  or 
a  tree  or  any  green  thing  to  rest  the  eye  upon — and 
then  I  got  down  as  there  came  to  meet  me  a  small 
bare-headed  man  without  a  queue,  and  his  thick 
black  hair  apparently  cut  with  a  saw  and  done  with 
a  fork.  He  wore  an  ill-fitting  suit  of  foreign  clothes, 
and  about  his  neck,  instead  of  a  collar,  one  of  those 
knitted  wraps  an  Englishwoman  puts  inside  her  coat 
when  the  weather  is  cold.  On  his  feet  were  the  white 
socks  and  heelless  slippers  of  the  Chinese.  Instead 
of  the  dignified  greeting  the  first  man  had  given  me 
he  remarked  genially,  and  offhandedly:  "Hallo, 
Missus ! "  and  he  did  it  with  a  certain  confidence,  as 
if  he  really  would  show  the  numerous  bystanders 
that  he  knew  how  to  receive  a  lady. 

Through  one  shabby  courtyard  after  another,  all 
guarded  by  soldiers  in  khaki,  he  led  me  to  the 
presence  of  the  Tartar  General,  Hsiung  Hsi  Ling, 
the  great  man  who  had  been  Minister  of  Finance 
and  who  now  held  military  command  over  the  whole 
of  that  part  of  China,  independent  even  of  the  Viceroy 
of  the  Province  of  Chihli.  Those  who  told  me  made 
a  great  point  of  that  independence ;  but  in  China  it 
seems  that  a  General  with  troops  at  his  command 
always  is  independent,  not  only  of  the  Viceroy  of 
the  Province  in  which  he  is  stationed,  but  of  anyone 
else  in  authority.  The  President  himself  would 
treat  him  with  great  respect  so  long  as  he  had  troops 
at  his  back.  He  is,  in  fact,  entirely  independent. 
If  the  central  authorities  give  him  money  to  pay  his 
troops,  well  and  good,  he  holds  himself  at  their  com- 
mand, if  they  do  not,  then  he  is  quite  likely  to 
sympathise  with  his  men,  and  become  not  only  a 


278  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

danger  to  the  community  among  whom  he  is 
stationed,  but  to  the  Government  as  well.  It  is 
hardly  likely  yet  in  China,  that  a  General  popular 
with  his  troops  can  be  degraded  or  dismissed.  He 
can  only  be  got  rid  of  by  offering  him  something 
better. 

Here  I  found  none  of  the  pomp  and  magnificence 
I  had  expected  to  find  about  an  all-powerful  Oriental. 
We  went  into  a  room  floored  with  stone,  after  the 
Chinese   fashion,   and  furnished   with   a   couple   of 
chairs,  and  through  that  into  a  plain,  smallish  room, 
with  the  usual  window  of  dainty  lattice-work  covered 
with  white  paper.     All  down  the  centre  of  it  ran  a 
table   like   a  great  dining-table,   covered,    as  if  to 
emphasise  the  likeness,  with  a  white  cloth.     I  felt  as 
if  I  had  come  in  at  an  inopportune  moment,  before 
the  table  had  been  cleared  away.     Seated  at  this 
table,  with  his  back  to  the  window,  was  the  General. 
He  rose  as  I  entered  and  came  forward,  kindly  and 
considerately,  to  meet  me — a  man  of  middle  height, 
younger  than  I  expected,  for  he  hardly  looked  forty. 
There  was  not  a  thread  of  white  in  his  coal-black 
hair,  but  he  had  some  hair  on  his  face — a  moustache 
and  the  scanty  beard  that  is  all  the  Chinese  can 
produce — so  he  was  evidently  of  ripe  years,  well  past 
middle  age.     He  wore  a  uniform  of  khaki,  as  simple 
and  devoid  of  ornament  as  that  of  one  of  his  own 
soldiers ;  his  thick  black  hair  was  cut  short  and  he 
had  a  clever,  kindly  face.     Though  he  could  under- 
stand no  English,  he  looked  at  the  foreign  woman 
pleasantly,  and  as  if  he  were  glad  to  see  her.     He 
went  back  to  his  chair,  and  I  was  seated  at  his  right 
hand,  while  his  secretary,  and  very  inadequate  inter- 
preter, sat  on  his  left.     An  attendant,  looking  like 


THE  TARTAR   GENERAL          279 

an  ordinary  coolie,  brought  in  tea  in  three  cups  with 
handles  and  saucers,  foreign  fashion,  and  the  inter- 
view began. 

I  have  been  told  that  a  grave  and  unsmiling 
demeanour  is  the  proper  thing  to  bring  to  a  Chinese 
interview ;  and  if  so  I  failed  lamentably  to  come  up 
to  the  correct  standard.  But  since  the  interpreter 
knew  even  less  English  than  Tuan,  whom  I  had  left 
outside,  there  was  really  little  else  to  do  but  smile 
and  look  pleasant.  My  host  certainly  smiled  many 
times.  I  complimented  him  on  the  beauty  of  his 
country  and  then  I  asked  permission,  that  is  to  say 
his  protection,  to  go  on  to  Lamamiao,  or  as  it  is 
called  on  the  maps,  Dolnor.  Goodness  knows  why 
I  asked.  It  would  have  meant  two  or  three  weeks 
at  least  in  that  awful  Peking  cart,  but  I  appear  to 
be  so  constituted  that,  when  I  am  within  range  of  a 
place,  it  would  seem  like  missing  my  opportunities 
not  to  try  and  get  there.  I  don't  know  what  there 
is  to  see  at  Dolnor,  but  it  is  up  on  the  Mongolian 
plateau,  and  there  is  a  big  lamaserie  there  and  a 
living  Buddha,  that  is  an  incarnation  of  the  Buddha. 
The  one  who  is  there  at  present  may  be  very  holy 
as  to  one  part  of  him,  but  the  earthly  part  requires 
plenty  of  drink,  I  am  told,  and  the  caresses  of  many 
women  to  make  this  world  tolerable.  However,  I 
was  not  to  see  him.  The  General  and  his  secretary 
might  not  have  understood  much,  but  they  did  under- 
stand what  I  wanted  then,  and  they  were  emphatic 
that  I  could  not  go.  The  General  looked  at  his 
secretary  and  then  at  me,  and  explained  at  length, 
and  he  must  have  thought  that  the  English  language 
was  remarkable  for  its  brevity,  for  I  was  curtly 
informed : 


280  A  WOMAN   IN  CHINA 

"No  can  go.     Plenty  robber.     Too  much  war." 

I  had  been  threatened  with  robbers  before,  but  not 
by  an  important  General,  and  this  time  I  felt  I  had 
better  take  heed,  besides  there  was  always  the  con- 
solatory thought  that,  if  I  did  not  go,  I  need  not 
ride  any  more  in  a  Peking  cart.  Then  I  asked  per- 
mission to  visit  the  Palace  and  Park. 

"  No  can  do  one  time,"  said  the  interpreter. 
"  How  many  day  you  want  go  ?  " 

Somehow,  though  I  had  come  all  this  way  to  see 
it,  I  have  a  rooted  objection  to  sightseeing.  To  get 
a  ticket  to  go  into  a  place  takes  away  the  charm; 
still  as  I  was  about  it,  I  thought  I  would  go  as  often 
as  I  could,  so  I  said  I  would  like  to  go  on  five  days. 
The  missionaries,  though  they  had  been  here  for 
six  years,  had  never  yet  set  foot  inside  that  Park; 
to  go  required  a  permit  from  the  authorities,  and  it 
was  their  idea  to  ask  nothing  from  those  authorities 
that  they  could  possibly  avoid.  They  would  cer- 
tainly have  thought  it  wicked  to  ask  for  anything  for 
their  own  pleasure.  I  did  not  suffer  from  any  such 
ideas.  As  the  General  was  bent  on  being  civil  to 
me  I  thought  I  might  as  well  say  I  would  like  to  take 
my  friends  in,  and  as  we  could  not  go  without  proper 
attendants — I  who  come  from  a  country  where  I 
have  blacked  my  own  boots,  cooked  the  family 
dinner,  and  ironed  my  husband's  shirts  many  a  time 
— I  asked  for  and  got  about  thirty  tickets.  I've  got 
some  of  them  still.  Then  I  drank  a  cup  of  very 
excellent  tea,  and  before  five  minutes  were  up  rose 
and  made  my  adieux.  Brevity,  I  had  been  instructed, 
was  the  soul  of  courtesy  in  a  Chinese  interview. 

The  Tartar  General  saw  me  through  two  doors, 
which  I  believe  was  a  high  honour,  and  due  to  my 


PAVILIONS  ON  BRIDGE  ACROSS  LAKE,  JEHOL. 


A   BOATHOUSE  IN  THE  PARK. 


THE  TARTAR   GENERAL          281 

having  been  introduced  as  a  learned  doctor.  The 
correct  thing  is  to  protest  all  the  while  and  beg  your 
host  not  to  come  any  farther,  but  I  am  really  too 
Western  in  my  ideas  and  it  seems  silly.  Either  he 
wants  to  come,  or  he  doesn't,  in  any  case  what  does 
it  matter,  and  so  I  fear  me,  I  was  not  vehement 
enough  in  my  protestations  of  unworthiness.  The 
secretary  conducted  me  to  my  cart,  where  a  subdued 
and  awed  servant  awaited  my  arrival  with  a  new  and 
exalted  idea  of  his  Missie's  importance.  Tuan  had 
magnified  my  importance,  I  fancy,  for  his  own  sake. 
He  was  serving  a  woman — yes,  but  she  was  a  rich, 
generous,  and  important  woman,  but  he  had  never, 
at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  really  dreamt  that  she 
could  go  through  the  yamen  gate  in  a  cart,  that 
she  could  sit  down  beside  the  Tartar  General,  that  she 
could  get  many  tickets  to  go  inside  grounds  forbidden 
to  all  the  Chinese  round  about.  I  have  not  the 
slightest  doubt  all  the  details  of  the  interview  reached 
him  before  I  came  out,  brief  as  my  visit  had  been, 
and  he  helped  me  into  my  cart  with,  I  felt,  more 
deference  and  less  make-believe  than  was  usual.  It 
made  me  smile  a  little  to  myself,  but  I  think  it  was 
Tuan  who  really  got  most  satisfaction  out  of  that 
visit,  though  he  had  not  seen  the  great  man. 

I  had  been  comparing  China  to  Babylon.  I  came 
away  from  the  General's  presence  with  the  feeling 
that  a  Babylonish  gentleman  was  truly  charming — 
just  like  a  finished  product  of  my  own  time. 
Probably  he  was.  But  there  were  other  sides  to 
Babylon,  as  I  was  reminded  that  night.  It  is  well 
to  know  all  sides.  When  I  had  said  good  night  and 
gone  to  bed,  there  burst  on  my  ears  a  loud  beating 
of  gongs,  and  the  weird  war-song  I  had  found  so 


282  A  WOMAN   IN  CHINA 

haunting  the  night  before.  The  soldiers  were 
stimulating  their  courage  for  the  fighting  in 
Mongolia.  I  wonder  if  the  Babylonish  soldiery  sang 
so  before  they  marched  down  upon  Jerusalem. 
Then  there  came  the  watchman's  gong,  and  the  howl 
of  the  wonks  that  prowled  about  the  town.  I  was  back 
in  past  ages,  and  as  I  lay  there  in  the  darkness  I 
wondered  how  I  had  ever  had  the  temerity  even  to 
contemplate  a  visit  to  Lamamiao,  and  whether  I 
would  ever  have  the  courage  necessary  to  get  back 
to  Peking  by  myself.  Luckily  the  fears  of  the  dark 
are  generally  dispersed  by  the  morning  sunlight.  At 
least  they  are  with  me,  or  I  should  never  dare  go 
travelling  in  remote  places  at  all. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  PLEASURE-GROUND  OF  THE  MANCHUS 

A  return  call — Ceremonies — A  dog-robbing  suit— Difficulties  of 
conversation — A  treat  for  the  amah — The  British  Ambassador 
at  Jehol  in  the  eighteenth  century — The  last  stages  of 
decrepitude — Glories  of  the  park — The  bronze  temple — A 
flippant  young  Chinese  gentleman — "  Ladies'  Temple  " — 
Desolation  and  dirt  and  ruin — "  Happiness  Hall  " — Exam- 
ining a  barbarian. 

THE  next  day  the  secretary  returned  my  call,  bring- 
ing with  him  the  General's  card,  and  an  apology  for 
not  coming  himself.  He  was  so  very  busy.  I  never 
expected  him  to  come,  and  don't  suppose  he  ever 
really  intended  to,  but  it  was  true  Chinese  politeness 
to  put  it  that  way. 

Mr  Wu  had  sent  to  say  he  was  coming  to  call  upon 
me,  and  it  surprised  me  to  see  the  commotion  such  a 
little  thing  occasioned  in  the  mission  house.  I  felt 
they  were  really  being  awfully  good  to  my  guest,  but, 
without  taking  away  one  jot  from  their  kindliness,  I 
think,  too,  they  were  very  glad  to  be  brought  into 
friendly  relations  with  the  yamen,  and  I  was  very 
glad  indeed  to  think  that  I,  who  was  in  outer  darkness 
from  their  point  of  view,  was  able  to  do  this  little  thing 
for  them.  Cakes  were  made,  the  best  tea  got  out, 
the  table  set,  and  the  boy,  who  generally  waited  upon 
us  humbler  folk  in  a  little  short  jacket  and  trousers 
caught  in  at  the  ankles,  was  put  into  the  long  coat, 

283 


284  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

or  petticoat,  whichever  you  are  pleased  to  call  it, 
that  a  well-dressed  Chinese  servant  always  wears. 
It  seems  it  is  not  the  correct  thing  for  him  to  wait 
upon  one  in  a  little  short  jacket.  And  then  when 
all  was  ready,  and  the  small  great  man  was 
announced,  to  my  surprise  the  other  two  women 
were  hustled  out  of  sight,  and  I  and  the  missionary 
received  him  alone.  Why,  I  do  not  know  even  now. 
I  sat  on  a  high  chair,  and  so  did  Mr  Wu,  and  the 
missionary  gave  us  both  tea  and  cakes,  handing  every- 
thing with  both  hands;  that  I  believe  is  the  correct 
Chinese  way  of  doing  honour  to  your  guest.  I 
received  it  as  a  matter  of  course,  said  "  Thank  you," 
or  "  Please  don't  bother/'  whichever  occurred  to  me, 
but  Mr  Wu  was  loud  in  his  protestations,  in  both 
Chinese  and  English,  and  I  fancy  the  whole  inter- 
view— unless  I  spoiled  it — was  conducted  in  a  manner 
which  reflected  infinite  credit  upon  the  missionary's 
knowledge  of  Chinese  customs  and  the  secretary's 
best  manners.  They  certainly  were  very  elaborate. 
This  day  he  had  on  what  one  of  my  naval  brothers 
was  wont  to  designate  a  dog-robbing  suit,  though  I 
don't  know  that  he  ever  went  out  dog-robbing,  and 
I  am  quite  sure  the  young  Chinese  gentleman  never 
did,  also  his  hair  was  neatly  parted  in  the  middle 
and  plastered  down  on  each  side,  and  with  a  high 
collar  and  tie  on,  he  looked  really  as  uncomfortable 
and  outre  as  it  was  possible  to  look.  He  had  brought 
me  the  tickets,  and  implored  me  if  I  wanted  anything 
else  to  ask  for  it.  The  interview  was  a  trial  to  me. 
It  is  all  very  well  to  be  prepared  to  smile,  but  smiles 
don't  really  fill  up  more  than  a  minute  or  two,  and 
what  on  earth  to  say  during  the  rest  of  the  time, 
troubled  me.  In  all  the  wide  world,  and  I  felt  it 


LAKE  IN  PARK,   JEHOL. 


END  OF   LAKE   IN   PARK,   JEHOL. 


MANCHUS'     PLEASURE-GROUND    285 

acutely,  we  had  absolutely  nothing  in  common  save 
those  tickets,  and  my  heart  sank  when  he  told  me  he 
would  do  himself  the  honour  of  showing  me  over  the 
palace  himself.  If  I  felt  half  an  hour  with  him,  for 
all  my  gratitude  for  his  kindliness,  an  intolerable 
burden,  what  on  earth  should  I  feel  the  livelong  day. 
One  piece  of  news  he  did  tell  us,  there  Ead  been 
fighting  in  Mongolia,  severe  fighting,  and  many  men 
had  been  killed,  but  when  we  came  to  ask  which  side 
had  won  he  said  he  did  not  know,  and  then  of  course 
we  guessed  the  Chinese  had  suffered  a  reverse,  for 
if  the  telegraph  could  tell  any  details  at  all,  it  was 
sure  to  have  told  the  all-important  one  which  side 
was  the  conqueror.  At  last,  when  it  seemed  that 
hour  had  been  interminable,  the  young  man  rose,  and 
the  farewells  began. 

Those  Chinese  farewells!  Chinese  etiquette  is 
enough  to  cure  the  most  enthusiastic  believer  in  form 
and  ceremony,  to  reduce  him  to  the  belief  that  a 
simple  statement  of  fact,  a  "  Yea,  yea,"  and  "  Nay, 
nay,"  are  amply  sufficient.  I  suppose  all  this  form 
and  ceremony,  this  useless  form  and  ceremony,  comes 
from  the  over-civilisation  of  China.  If  ever  in  the 
future  I  am  inclined  to  cavil  at  abrupt  modern 
manners,  I  shall  think  of  that  young  man  protesting 
that  the  missionary  must  not  come  to  the  gate  with 
him,  when  all  the  while  he  knew  he  would  have 
been  deeply  offended  if  he  had  not.  I  fear  lest  I 
may  now  swing  over  to  the  other  side  and  say  that  a 
rude  abruptness  is  a  sign  of  life,  so  much  better  does 
it  seem  to  me  than  the  long  elaborate  and  meaning- 
less politeness  that  hampers  one  so  much. 

When  he  had  gone  we  discussed  the  question  of  a 
visit  to  the  Imperial  Park,  and  then  I  found  that 


286  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

there  were  many  things  in  the  way  of  my  entertaining 
my  hosts,  prayer  meetings,  dispensary  afternoons, 
visits,  and  that  in  any  case,  only  the  women  would 
accompany  me,  whether  that  was  really  because  the 
men  were  busy,  or  because  it  was  not  Chinese 
etiquette  for  men  and  women  to  amuse  themselves 
together  I  do  not  know,  but  I  strongly  suspect  the 
latter  had  something  to  do  with  it.  For  of  course  what 
the  foreigners  did,  more  especially  the  new  foreign 
woman,  who  was  not  a  missionary,  was  a  matter  of 
common  talk  in  all  the  district  round.  Then  my 
hostess  put  it  to  me,  as  I  had  plenty  of  tickets  and 
to  spare,  would  I  take  their  amah.  She  was  most 
anxious  to  go.  She  had  been  in  service  with  a 
Manchu  family,  and  once  when  they  were  going  she 
had  been  ill,  and  once  it  had  rained  so  that  she  had 
never  gone,  and  she  was  getting  an  old  woman  and 
feared  her  chances  were  dwindling  sadly. 

It  was  such  a  little  thing  to  want,  and  yet  I  don't 
know.  When  I  looked  at  the  hideous  town,  for 
Cheng  Teh  Fu  remains  in  my  mind  as  the  ugliest 
Chinese  town  I  have  ever  seen  it  had  not  the  charm 
and  fascination  that  walls  give,  when  I  thought  of 
the  delights  that  lay  hidden  behind  the  fifteen  miles 
of  high  wall  that  surround  the  Park,  the  delights  that 
are  for  so  very,  very  few,  I  did  not  wonder  that  the 
Manchu  woman,  who  already  counted  herself  old,  she 
was  forty-five,  should  have  been  very  anxious  to 
go  inside.  And  when  I  told  her  I  would  take  her, 
she  immediately  begged  leave  to  go  away  and  put 
on  her  best  clothes.  I  couldn't  see  any  difference 
between  her  best  clothes  and  her  everyday  clothes, 
but  I  could  see  she  had  a  small  shaven  grandchild 
in  attendance,  who  was  immediately  put  on  to  carry 


MANCHUS'     PLEASURE-GROUND     287 

my  umbrella.  I  suppose  she  hoped  to  smuggle  him 
in  to  see  the  delights,  and  I  said  nothing,  for  I  had 
plenty  of  tickets. 

Curiously  enough,  while  most  of  China  has  been 
a  sealed  book,  the  Hunting  Palace — it  is  really  better 
described  as  a  Lodge — of  the  Manchus  has  been 
known  to  the  English  for  one  hundred  and  twenty 
years,  for  it  was  here  that,  on  the  Qth  September, 
1793,  the  Emperor  Ch'ien  Lung  received  Lord  Ma- 
cartney, the  first  British  Ambassador  to  China.  I  did 
not  come  straight  from  Peking,  but  I  know  that  the 
road,  by  valley  and  mountain  pass,  is  reckoned  very 
bad  indeed,  and  very  few  people  as  yet  take  the 
trouble  to  go  to  Jehol.  It  is  four  and  a  half  days' 
hard  travelling  now,  but  Lord  Macartney  took  seven, 
and  it  is  a  curious  commentary  upon  the  state  of  the 
roads  in  the  British  Isles  in  those  days  that  though 
his  chronicler,  Sir  George  Staunton,  writing  of  the 
journey,  complains  a  little  of  the  roads,  and  mentions 
that  Lord  Macartney's  carriage,  which  he  had  brought 
out  from  England  with  him,  had  generally  to  be 
dragged  along  empty,  while  the  "  Embassador  "  him- 
self rode  in  a  palankeen,  he  does  not  make  much 
moan  about  them ;  no  one  reading  his  account  would 
think  they  were  so  appalling  as  they  must  have  been, 
for  I  cannot  think  they  have  deteriorated  much  since 
those  days.  When  I  looked  at  the  streets  of  Cheng 
Teh  Fu,  banks,  dust  heaps,  great  holes,  stones,  I 
tried  to  imagine  the  British  "  Embassador's  "  coach 
being  dragged  across  them,  twisting  round  corners, 
balancing  on  sidings,  up  to  the  axles  in  dust,  or 
perhaps  mud,  for  it  was  September  and  the  crowd 
looking  on  at  the  lord  from  the  far  islands  of  the  sea, 
who  was  bringing  tribute  to  the  Emperor  of  China, 


288  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

for  I  am  afraid  it  is  hardly  likely  they  believed  he 
was  doing  anything  else. 

Another  thing  Sir  George  Staunton  notes  is  the 
scarcity  of  timber.  "  The  circumjacent  hills,"  he 
writes,  "  appeared  to  have  been  once  well  planted 
with  trees;  but  those  few  which  remained  were 
stunted,  and  timber  has  become  very  scarce.  No 
young  plantations  had  been  made  to  supply  the  old 
ones  cut  down."  Now  the  hills  round  are  absolutely 
bare,  there  is  not  a  sign  that  ever  a  tree  has  grown 
upon  them,  and  I  should  not  have  believed  they  had, 
had  it  not  been  for  Sir  George  Staunton's  account. 

And  on  the  other  side  of  this  ugly  town,  among 
these  desolate  hills,  is  set  a  wall,  a  wall  about  twenty 
feet  high,  with  a  broad  pathway  on  the  top,  along 
which  the  guards  might  walk.  And  the  wall  has  been 
built  with  discretion.  Not  only  was  it  to  keep  out  all 
but  the  elect,  but  it  was  to  block  effectually  all  view 
of  what  went  on  inside.  Not  even  from  the  neigh- 
bouring hills  is  it  possible  to  look  into  that  Park.  Its 
delights  were  only  for  the  Son  of  Heaven  and  those 
who  ministered  to  his  well-being. 

We  went  along  a  sordid,  dusty  street  to  the 
principal  gate,  a  shabby  and  forlorn-looking  gate,  and 
the  watch-tower  over  it  was  crumbling  to  decay,  and 
we  entered  the  courtyard,  a  forlorn  and  desolate 
courtyard,  where  the  paving-stones  were  broken,  and 
the  grass  and  weeds  were  coming  up  between  the 
cracks.  Then  there  was  a  long  pathway  with  a 
broken  pavement  in  the  middle,  a  pavement  so 
characteristic  of  China  that  wherever  I  chance  to  see 
such  I  shall  think  of  her  golden  sunshine  and  bright 
skies.  On  either  side  of  that  pathway  were  high 
walls  over  which  were  peeping  the  tiled  roofs  of 


LAKE  IN  PARK,  JEHOL. 


EMPEROR'S  BEDROOM. 


MANCHUS'    PLEASURE-GROUND    289 

buildings,  until  at  last  after  fully  five  minutes'  walk, 
after  passing  through  many  gates,  all  in  various 
stages  of  decay,  we  came  to  a  place  where  the  path 
ended  with  two  doors  to  the  right  and  left.  This, 
the  palace  of  an  Emperor;  it  seemed  impossible  to 
believe  it.  I  wondered  if  the  woman  who  had  wanted 
for  so  many  years  to  see  it  was  disappointed.  She 
was  supporting  my  elbow,  true  Chinese  fashion,  and 
Tuan,  having  succeeded  in  passing  on  my  camera  to 
the  usual  ragged  follower,  was  on  the  other  side,  as 
if  I  were  in  the  last  stages  of  decrepitude.  At  first 
this  exceeding  attention  used  to  irritate  me,  but  by 
this  time  I  had  resigned  myself  to  my  fate.  I  was 
more  concerned  at  the  shabbiness  and  sordidness  of 
everything.  Of  course  no  one  save  the  servants, 
who  keep  the  place,  live  in  the  grounds  now,  no 
one  has  lived  there  for  over  fifty  years,  not  since  1 860, 
when  tKe  reigning  Emperor  fled  there  from  the  Allies 
who  sacked  Peking,  and  died  there.  Perhaps  it  was 
for  that  reason  that  his  secondary  wife,  the  great 
Dowager- Empress  whom  all  the  world  knew,  disliked 
the  place,  and  went  there  no  more.  I  remembered 
that,  as  I  stood  between  those  two  doors  and  wondered 
which  I  should  go  through  first.  The  one  to  the  left 
led  to  some  courtyards  surrounded  by  low,  one- 
storied  buildings — Emperor's  first  bedroom — said 
Tuan,  and  possibly  he  was  right.  I  turned  to  the 
door  on  the  right  and  as  it  opened  I  knew  that  these 
Manchu  pleasure-grounds  had  been  planned,  as  so 
many  things  Chinese  are  planned,  nobly.  I  stepped 
out  on  to  a  plateau  and  there,  there  in  this  treeless 
China,  was  a  grove  of  firs  and  pines.  The  blue  sky 
peeped  through  the  branches,  the  sunshine  dappled 
the  ground  with  shadow  and  light,  and  the  wind 

T 


290  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

murmured  softly  among  the  evergreen  foliage.  Here 
was  coolness  and  delight.  Beyond  the  plateau  lay  a 
long  grassy  valley  surrounded  by  softly  rounded,  tree- 
clad  hills,  and  right  at  the  bottom  of  the  valley  was  a 
lake  with  winding  shores,  a  lake  covered  with  lotus 
lilies,  with  islands  on  it,  with  bridges  and  buildings, 
picturesque  as  only  the  ideal  Chinese  buildings  can 
be  picturesque.  It  may  have  been  created  by  art, 
and  at  least  art  must  have  entered  to  some  great 
extent  into  the  making  of  the  beauty,  but  there  is 
no  trace  of  it.  My  followers  looked  at  the  scene 
and  looked  at  me,  as  much  as  to  say  this  was  some- 
thing belonging  to  them  they  were  showing  me,  and 
they  hoped  I  was  appreciating  it  properly.  It  might 
have  been  the  Manchu  woman's  very  own.  In  truth 
I  could  only  look  and  wonder,  lost  in  admiration. 
What  could  the  heart  of  man  want  more  for  the 
glorious  summertime,  the  brief,  hot  summer  of 
Northern  China? 

The  first  glance  was  a  surprise,  and  the  farther  I 
went  in  the  more  my  wonder  grew.  There  were 
paved  pathways,  but  they  were  not  aggressively 
paved,  the  rough  grey  stones  had  just  been  sunk  in 
the  grass.  They  were  broken  a  little  now,  and  they 
toned  naturally  with  the  rural  surroundings.  There 
were  lovely  bridges  bridging  ravines,  and  here,  too, 
was  not  one  stone  too  many,  nothing  to  suggest  the 
artificial,  that  so  often  spoils  the  rural  scene  made  to 
conform  to  the  wants  of  the  luxurious.  Of  course, 
besides  the  pavement,  other  things  had  fallen  into 
disrepair,  there  were  steps  down  hill-sides  that  were 
well-nigh  hopeless  for  purposes  of  ascent  and  descent, 
and  there  were  temples  where  indeed  the  gods  were 
forlorn  and  forgotten.  Gigantic  gods  they  were 


MANCHUS'    PLEASURE-GROUND     291 

with  fearsome  faces  and  painted  in  gorgeous  colours, 
but  they  were  all  dusty  and  dirty.  There  was  one 
temple  all  of  bronze,  but  it  was  rusted  and  shabby. 
There  were  shrines  in  it  set  with  agate  and  jasper, 
mother-of-pearl  and  jade,  and  what  looked  like  great 
rubies,  but,  very  likely,  were  only  garnets.  Shabby, 
forlorn,  forgotten  was  the  temple,  the  steps  that  led 
up  to  it  were  broken  and  almost  unusable,  the  court- 
yards were  neglected,  the  tiles  of  the  roof  grass- 
grown,  the  woodwork  of  the  doors  perished,  the  walls 
falling,  but  the  situation  on  the  hill-side,  embosomed 
in  pines,  with  the  beautiful  lake  at  its  feet  and  the 
wide  vista  of  hills  beyond,  was  superb,  eternal. 

On  the  day  the  missionaries  arranged  to  come 
we  made  a  picnic  to  this  temple,  I,  and  the  two 
missionary  women  and  our  attendants,  my  servant, 
and  their  boy  and  the  Manchu  amah  and  all  the 
heterogeneous  following  my  boy  always  collected, 
and  as  we  sat  there  at  our  open-air  tiffin  the  gates  were 
pushed  open  and  in  came  the  little  Chinese  gentle- 
man in  his  badly  fitting  foreign  clothes. 

"Hallo,  Missus/'  he  said,  and  I  forgot  for  a 
moment  all  the  wonders  that  his  people  had  done, 
that  were  here  before  my  eyes. 

He  had  come  to  fulfil  his  promise  and  show  me 
round. 

He  was  a  flippant  young  gentleman  impatient  of 
the  past,  just  as  I  have  seen  young  men  of  his  age, 
in  Western  lands.  He  was  only  a  boy,  after  all, 
and  he  threw  stones  at  the  birds  just  as  a  youngei 
boy  might  have  done  in  England.  Only  I  wished 
he  wouldn't.  It  was  nice  to  think  the  birds  had 
sanctuary  here,  but  I  suppose  it  was  a  way  of  letting 
off  steam,  since  he  could  not  talk  very  easily  to  the 


292  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

foreign  woman.  A  small  red  squirrel,  sitting  up 
deeply  engaged  with  a  nut  from  one  of  the  fir-trees, 
roused  him  to  wild  excitement,  and  he  shouted  and 
yelled  to  a  couple  of  dignified,  petticoated  Chinamen 
on  the  other  side  of  the  lake,  in  a  way  that  quite 
upset  my  ideas  of  Chinese  propriety ;  in  fact,  he  was 
the  General's  secretary,  showing  off  just  as  I  have 
seen  boys  in  other  lands  show  off. 

He  took  us  to  the  women's  temple,  since  we  were 
interested  in  temples,  a  temple  away  on  the  other 
side  of  the  lake,  down  in  a  hollow  of  the  hills,  hidden 
away  as  woman  has  been  hidden  away  in  China  for 
immemorial  ages. 

"  Ladies'  temple,"  said  our  cicerone  with  a  wave 
of  his  hand. 

And  it,  too,  is  falling  into  decay,  the  dusty  gods, 
ranged  round  the  sacred  place,  remind  one  of  the 
contents  of  a  lumber-room,  and  "  Forgotten,  for- 
gotten," is  written  large  all  over  it.  The  forlorn  old 
man  in  shabby  blue,  with  a  tiny  little  queue  and 
a  dirty  face  who  keeps  it,  looks  as  if  he  too  had 
been  forgotten,  and  was  grateful  for  a  twenty-cent 
cumskaw.  Only  the  courtyard  with  the  soft  breeze 
rustling  in  the  pine-trees  and  ringing  the  musical 
bells  that  hung  from  the  eaves  was  peaceful  in  the 
afternoon  sunshine,  with  a  charm  of  its  own. 

What  women  have  come  and  prayed  here?  The 
proud  Manchu  Empress  whom  her  lord  had 
neglected,  the  Chinese  concubine  who  longed  to  find 
favour  in  his  eyes  ? 

All  over  this  pleasure-ground  are  buildings,  but 
so  deftly  placed  they  never  for  one  moment  interfere 
with  the  charm  of  the  countryside.  There  is  a  little 
temple  on  the  Golden  Mountain  where  the  Jehol 


GOLDEN  MOUNTAIN  AND  SOURCE  OF  JEHOL  RIVER. 


MR.   WU  AT  THE  ENTRANCE  TO  THE  TEMPLE. 


MANCHUS'    PLEASURE-GROUND    293 

River  takes  its  rise  in  a  spring ;  on  another  hill  is  a 
little  look-out  place  or  tea  pagoda  with  the  roof 
covered  with  tiles  of  imperial  yellow,  and  a  view  from 
it  that  even  an  Emperor  is  lucky  to  command.  At 
the  end  of  a  long  grassy  glade  where  the  deer  were 
feeding  in  the  shade  of  oaks  and  willows  was  a  tall 
pagoda,  and  the  Emperor's  library  was  in  another 
little  valley,  hidden  away  behind  high  walls.  We 
entered  through  a  guard-house  and  came  upon  a 
small  door  in  the  high  stone  wall,  and  this  door  on 
the  inner  side  appeared  to  be  blocked  not  only  by  the 
trunk  of  a  tree  but  by  a  huge  rock.  There  was,  how- 
ever, just  room  for  one  person  to  pass  round,  and 
then  we  entered  a  shaded  rock  garden,  which  is  all 
round  the  building  that  holds  the  library.  The  deep 
veranda  was  charming,  on  the  hottest  day  one  might 
sit,  cool  and  secluded,  reading  here,  and  on  each 
corner  are  exquisite  bronze  models  of  Chinese  ponies. 
The  library  itself,  like  most  of  these  houses,  was 
sealed  up,  and  our  young  friend  had  not  the  key,  but 
the  lattice-work  windows,  and  most  of  the  walls  are 
of  lattice-work,  for  this  is  a  summer  palace,  were 
down  to  the  ground,  and  through  the  torn  paper  I 
could  get  a  glimpse  of  what  looked  like  another 
lumber-room,  but  that  once  must  have  been  gorgeous 
with  red  lacquer  and  gold. 

Always  it  was  the  same,  desolation  and  dirt  and 
ruin,  and  the  young  man  who  was  showing  us  every- 
thing made  as  if  he  wished  to  impress  upon  us  that 
it  did  not  matter.  He  belonged  to  the  modern  world, 
and  these  were  past  and  gone.  But  when  we  admired 
and  were  charmed  and  delighted  I  saw  that  he,  too, 
was  pleased. 

There  were  the  Emperor's  rooms  opening  into  a 


294  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

courtyard  close  to  the  gate,  there  were  his  great 
audience  halls  down  among  a  grove  of  firs,  where 
probably  he  received  Lord  Macartney.  Highly 
scented  white  single  peonies  made  fragrant  the  grass- 
grown  courtyards,  where  great  bronze  gongs  are  the 
remnants  of  a  past  magnificence,  and  the  rooms  are 
many  of  them  empty,  for  all  they  are  so  carefully 
sealed.  There  were  more  rooms  for  the  Emperor  on 
an  island  in  the  lily-covered  lake ;  and  reached  by 
bridges  that  are  taken  up  in  June  and  July  and  boats 
substituted,  and  farthest  away  of  all,  at  the  very  end 
of  the  lake,  were  the  rooms  of  the  Empress. 

"  Happiness  Hall "  the  Emperor  Kwang  Hsi 
wrote  on  it  with  his  own  hands,  or  so  our  guide  told 
us,  and  there  to  this  day  the  golden  characters  remain. 
Did  they  speak  the  truth,  I  wonder.  At  that 
particular  period,  I  believe,  the  Empress  counted  for 
a  great  deal  more  than  the  Emperor,  so  possibly  at 
least  the  envious  Emperor  felt  he  was  speaking  the 
truth;  but,  as  a  rule,  it  is  difficult  to  think  that  the 
woman  who  shared  the  Dragon  Throne  could  have 
been  happy.  It  is  difficult  to  believe  that  any  woman 
in  China  can  be  happy,  she  counts  for  so  little  even 
now. 

The  courtyards  were  like  all  the  other  courtyards, 
with  great  gongs  of  Ningpo  work  and  bronze  vases, 
and  shaded  by  picturesque  pine-trees,  only  here  was 
an  innovation.  In  a  sheltered  corner,  hidden  away 
from  the  sight  of  all,  by  high  walls  and  green  shrubs, 
was  the  bathing-place  of  the  Court  ladies,  and  on  the 
other  side  their  theatre. 

The  Emperor  had  a  theatre  not  far  from  the  gate 
of  the  pleasure-grounds,  a  great  place  all  falling  into 
decay,  and  here  they  had  a  play  for  the  entertainment 


MANCHUS'   PLEASURE-GROUND    295 

of  their  guests,  when  the  first  British  Ambassador 
came  here,  and  it  is  evident  that  the  women  were 
allowed  to  be  present,  even  though  they  were  behind 
a  screen,  for  Sir  George  Staunton  relates  that  the 
only  foreigner,  seen  by  these  secluded  women,  was 
George  Staunton  aged  thirteen,  the  page  to  the 
Embassy,  who  was  led  on  to  a  platform  by  a  eunuch, 
so  that  the  wives  and  concubines  of  the  Emperor 
might  see  what  a  barbarian  from  the  islands  of  the 
far  Western  sea  looked  like. 

But  here,  close  to  her  rooms,  and  by  her  bathing- 
place,  the  Empress  had  her  own  private  theatre,  and 
I  wondered  what  manner  of  play  could  interest  such 
secluded  ladies,  such  narrow  lives. 

Wonderful  to  relate  both  the  theatre  and  the  roof 
of  the  rooms  showed  signs  of  having  been  recently 
done  up.  The  rumour  ran  that  after  the  Revolution 
in  February  1912,  the  Court  thought  of  retiring  here, 
and  these  recent  repairs  in  a  place  that  has  been 
untouched  for  years  give  colour  to  the  rumour.  We 
asked  our  guide  as  we  sat  at  afternoon  tea  on  the 
veranda  looking  out  at  the  sunlight  coming  through 
the  fir-trees  that  make  the  approach  to  "  Happiness 
Hall,"  but  he  shook  his  head.  He  knew  nothing 
about  it.  He  was  a  most  circumspect  young  man 
and  never  did  know  anything,  he  felt  perhaps  it  was 
wisest  not. 

Oh  but  it  was  sad  the  waste  here.  All  these 
dwelling-places  dotted  about  in  the  valley,  on  hill- 
side, hidden  away  in  groves  of  trees,  are  of  one  story, 
they  are  summer  palaces,  but  the  rooms  are  well- 
proportioned,  and  with  their  wide  verandas  and  their 
lattice-work  walls  down  to  the  ground,  must  have 
been  delightful  to  live  in,  and  they  were  furnished  as 


296  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

an  Emperor's  palace  should  be  furnished.  There 
were  chairs  unlike  the  usual  Chinese  chairs,  comfort- 
able chairs  of  red  lacquer  and  blackwood,  and  they 
were  inlaid  with  cloisonne  work,  with  carved  jade, 
with  delightful  patterns  in  mother-of-pearl,  there  were 
stools,  there  were  tables,  there  were  low  k'ang  tables 
of  lacquer,  and  all  were  perished  with  the  sun  and 
the  wind ;  of  not  one  piece  has  any  care  been  taken. 
Some  of  the  rooms  were  empty,  some  were  full  of 
packing-cases  hiding  I  know  not  what  treasures; 
judging  by  those  perishing  chairs  and  tables  that 
were  left  out,  I  should  imagine  something  worth 
possessing.  Can  it  be  only  fifty  years  since  an 
Emperor  came  here,  it  might  be  two  hundred  judging 
by  the  state  of  decay  everything  was  in,  and  yet,  when 
all  was  said  and  done,  this  place  struck  me  as  being 
the  most  magnificent  pleasure-ground,  the  most 
beautifully  situated,  the  most  beautifully  planned, 
that  I  have  ever  seen,  worth,  and  more  than  worth, 
the  arduous  journey  through  the  mountains  that  I 
had  taken  to  see  it. 

It  is  supposed  to  be  cut  off  from  the  people,  and  it 
is  I  suppose,  judging  by  the  joy  the  mission  servants 
expressed  at  getting  a  chance  to  see  it. 

"All  my  life,"  said  the  amah,  "  I  have  served  in 
Manchu  families,  and  yet  see,  it  is  through  a  foreigner 
I  come  here,"  and  it  was  as  if  the  seeing  had  crowned 
her  life.  But  still  there  is  a  little  dribbling  in  of  the 
favoured  few  of  the  lower  classes.  It  may  be  they 
were  the  palace  servants  who  speared  great  black 
bass  in  the  lake.  It  might  have  been  they  who 
carried  out  baskets  of  lily  root  and  sold  them  with 
the  fish  outside.  I  bought  bass  easily  enough  for 
my  hostess,  great  things  still  alive  and  bleeding  from 


WOMEN  S  TEMPLE,  JEHOL. 


HAPPINESS    HALL. 


MANCHUS'    PLEASURE-GROUND    297 

the  spear-point.  Sometimes  there  are  rumours  of 
art  treasures  sold  from  the  palace,  and  then  again  it 
is  contradicted :  but  I  wondered,  as  I  looked  at  those 
great  baskets  of  lily  roots  that  were  constantly  going 
outside,  if  here  were  not  an  excellent  way  to  conceal 
contraband.  It  may  be  though  that  the  guards  at  the 
gate  are  not  to  be  bought,  and  possibly  I  do  them  an 
injustice. 

I  had  written  this  and  felt  apologetic  for  my  sus- 
picions of  the  humble  guard,  forgetting  that  this  is 
China,  where  anything  may  happen,  when  before  my 
book  could  go  to  press  a  greater  than  the  guard,  no 
less  a  person  than  the  Premier  himself,  Hsiung  Hsi 
Ling,  the  great  Tartar  General,  was  accused  of 
taking  away  the  precious  curios  from  Jehol.  He 
had  brought  away  curios  valued  at  tens  of  thousands 
of  pounds  but  he  succeeded  in  proving  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  the  President  that  he  had  brought  them  away 
only  that  they  might  be  stored  in  one  of  the  great 
museums  in  Peking,  where  not  only  could  they  be 
cared  for,  but  they  might  be  seen  by  far  more  people. 
Again  I  thought  of  the  Babylonish  gentleman. 
Doubtless  he,  too,  would  have  moved  the  nation's 
treasures  from  one  place  to  another  without  saying 
by  your  leave  to  any  man.  To  whom  was  he 
responsible?  Perhaps  to  the  King  upon  the 
throne.  Hardly  to  him,  if  his  army  was  strong  and 
faithful. 

We  lingered  on  the  veranda  of  the  Empress's 
house  over  our  afternoon  tea — wherever  we  went 
hot  water  was  procurable — and  the  sunshine  came 
through  the  branches  of  the  pines  and  firs,  the  great 
willows  dipped  their  weeping  branches  in  the  clear 
waters  of  the  lake,  the  deep  blue  of  the  sky  contrasted 


298  A  WOMAN   IN  CHINA 

with  the  green  of  the  pine-needles,  and  a  long  snake 
came  slowly,  slowly,  through  the  grass  to  take  his 
daily  drink,  unperturbed,  though  all  the  servants  and 
the  German  girl  and  I  ran  to  look  at  him.  He  knew 
he  was  quite  safe,  no  one  would  harm  a  sacred  snake. 
A  small  eagle  screamed  from  the  rocks  above,  there 
was  the  mourning  of  a  dove,  the  plaintive  cry  of  a 
hoopoe,  and  a  chattering  black  and  white  magpie 
looked  on.  A  tiny  blue  kingfisher,  like  a  jewel, 
fluttered  on  to  a  stone,  and  a  bird  something  like  a 
thrush,  sang  sweetly  and  loudly  as  the  evening 
shadows  lengthened.  A  great  blue  crane,  tall  almost 
as  a  man  flew  slowly  across  the  water,  and  the  brown 
deer  clustered  in  the  glades  and  began  to  feed. 
Truly  it  was  an  ideal  spot  up  among  the  barren  hills 
of  Inner  Mongolia,  this  Park  enclosed  by  miles  of 
high  wall  and  still  carefully  guarded  and  jealously 
secluded  by  the  Republic  as  it  was  by  the  Manchus. 
When  France  became  a  Republic  they  threw  open 
her  palaces  and  desecrated  her  most  holy  places. 
Not  so  here  in  the  unchanging  East.  What  was 
secluded  and  difficult  of  entrance  in  Manchu  times 
is  secluded  and  entered  only  by  favour  still.  China 
absorbs  the  present  and  clings  to  the  past.  Are  they 
past  for  ever  those  dead  and  gone  rulers  who  made 
these  pleasure-grounds  ? 

Their  last  representative  is  a  little  boy  hidden  away 
in  the  heart  of  Peking,  hardly  realising  yet  what  he 
has  lost. 

"  If  he  comes  again,"  said  a  Chinese  gentleman, 
"  he  will  be  Emperor  by  force  of  arms." 

Will  the  power  come  back  to  him  ?  I  can  no  more 
believe  that  the  Chinese  will  become  a  modern  nation, 
forgetting  these  glories  of  their  past,  than  could  the 


PAVILIONS    ON    LAKE,    JEHOL. 

(Sec  page 


WOMEN'S  BATHING  PLACE. 

(See  page  294) 


MANCHUS'  PLEASURE-GROUND    299 

prophet  believe  that  the  Lord  would  leave  His  chosen 
people  in  captivity. 

"  I  will  bring  again  the  captivity  of  my  people  of 
Israel,  and  they  shall  build  the  waste  cities,  and 
inhabit  them ;  and  they  shall  plant  vineyards,  and 
drink  the  wine  thereof ;  they  shall  also  make  gardens 
and  eat  the  fruit  of  them. 

"  And  I  will  plant  them  upon  their  land,  and  they 
shall  no  more  be  pulled  out  of  their  land,  which  I 
have  given  them,  saith  the  Lord  thy  God." 

And  we  from  the  mission  wended  our  way  back 
through  the  dusty,  dirty,  commonplace  streets,  and 
the  little  gentleman  who  had  been  our  guide,  much 
to  his  relief,  I  am  sure,  for  he  spoke  little  English, 
and  he  would  not  speak  Chinese,  turned  off  at  the 
yamen. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  DEAD  GODS 

Legend  of  the  birth  of  Ch'ien  Lung — A  valley  of  temples — Wells — 
A  temple  fair — Hawking — Suicide's  rock — Five  hundred  and 
eight  Buddhas — The  Po-Ta-La — Supercilious  elephants — 
Steep  steps — Airless  temple — The  persevering  frog — Bright- 
roofed  Temple— Tea  at  the  Temple  of  the  great  Buddha— The 
Yuan  T'iing — Ming  Temple  outside  Peking. 

As  we  walked  in  the  Manchu  Park  the  amah  told  us 
a  story,  a  legend,  and  the  missionary  translated  it 
to  me.  It  took  a  long  while  to  tell,  first  she  slipped 
on  the  rocky  steps  and  we  had  to  wait  till  she  re- 
covered, then  the  General's  secretary  joined  us,  and 
finally,  when  we  were  safe  back  at  the  missionary 
compound,  she  had  to  wait  till  we  got  by  ourselves, 
because  she  thought  it  was  improper ! 

And  this  was  the  story  the  amah  told  as  we  walked 
beneath  the  fir-trees. 

Once  upon  a  time  in  the  valley  of  Jehol  there  was 
born  a  little  girl  who  did  not  speak  till  she  was  three 
years  old,  then  she  opened  her  lips,  looked  at  her 
grandfather,  and  called  him  by  name.  And  her 
grandfather  died.  She  did  not  speak  again  for  a 
long  time,  but  the  next  person  she  called  by  name 
also  died  and  consternation  reigned  in  the  family. 
Her  father  and  mother  died,  whether  because  she 
spoke  to  them  the  amah  did  not  know,  but  she  was 
left  penniless  and  at  last  a  farmer  took  compassion 

300 


VALLEY  OF  THE   DEAD   GODS    801 

upon  the  girl,  now  just  growing  into  womanhood, 
and  told  her  she  might  have  charge  of  the  ducks,  on 
condition  she  did  not  speak.  So  for  her  began  a 
lonely,  silent  life  among  the  mountains,  herding  the 
ducks. 

One  night  as  the  dusk  was  falling  and  the  duck 
pond  and  the  hills  beyond  were  wrapped  in  a  mysteri- 
ous haze  that  hid  and  glorified  everything,  there  came 
along  an  old  man  riding  a  donkey  and  asked  her  the 
way  to  the  Hunting  Palace  of  the  Manchus  that  was 
somewhere  among  these  hills  and  valleys.  He  had 
lost  his  way,  he  said,  and  wanted  to  get  back  there. 
The  girl  looked  at  him  with  mournful  eyes  and  shook 
her  head  without  saying  a  word. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  cried  the  old  man. 

She  turned  away  silently. 

"  I  must  find  my  way,"  he  added,  and  she  took  up 
a  stick  and  gathered  her  ducks  together. 

"  But  I  am  the  Emperor,"  said  he,  "  and  I  must  get 
back.  What  manner  of  girl  are  you  who  will  not 
speak  to  the  Emperor?  " 

And  she  looked  at  him  more  gravely  than  ever 
out  of  her  dark  eyes,  and  drove  off  her  ducks,  taking 
no  more  notice  of  the  greatest  ruler  in  the  world  than 
if  he  had  been  a  common  coolie.  So  the  Emperor 
found  his  own  way  to  his  Hunting  Palace,  and  that 
night  he  dreamed  a  dream,  a  vivid  dream,  that  an 
ancestor  had  come  to  him  and  told  him  he  must 
marry  a  strange  and  mysterious  woman. 

But  the  women  who  came  to  the  ruler  of  the  earth 
were  not  strange  and  mysterious,  they  were  ordinary 
and  commonplace  even  though  he  had  his  choice  of 
the  women  of  his  Empire.  He  brooded  over  the 
matter  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  strange 


302  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

and  mysterious  woman  must  be  the  girl  he  had  met 
herding  ducks  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening.  Then  he 
sent  out  to  the  part  of  the  country  where  he  had 
wandered  that  night  and  demanded  the  daughters 
of  the  farmer. 

The  good  man  was  highly  honoured  and  dressed 
his  girls  in  their  finest  clothes  to  appear  before  their 
Emperor,  but,  and  they  must  have  been  bitterly 
disappointed,  though  they  were  pretty  girls^  there 
was  nothing  strange  about  them,  they  were  as 
ordinary  as  all  the  other  women  who  occupied  the 
women's  quarters.  He  had  seen  many,  many,  like 
them.  Again  he  sent  back  to  the  farm  and  they  said 
there  were  no  other  women  there  but  the  girl  who 
herded  the  ducks,  and  it  could  not  be  she  because 
she  spoke  to  no  one. 

"That,"  said  the  Emperor,  "is  the  girl,"  and  he 
ordered  her  to  be  properly  arrayed  and  brought 
before  him  at  once, 

Alas  for  the  glamour  that  comes  with  the  dusk  of 
the  evening.  The  girl  had  grown  up  without  any 
comeliness  and  when  she  was  brought  before  the 
Emperor  he  turned  away  disgusted.  Nevertheless, 
for  his  dream's  sake,  he  married  her  and  gave  her  a 
fine  house  to  live  in,  but  he  had  nothing  to  do  with 
her,  she  was  his  wife  only  in  name. 

And  the  duck-herd  girl,  come  to  high  estate, 
pined  because  she  did  not  find  favour  in  the  sight  of 
her  lord,  she  never  ceased  to  pray  for  his  smiles,  and 
at  last  she  so  worked  upon  him  that  one  night  he 
did  send  for  her.  She  was  his  wife^  her  shame  had 
gone  from  her.  And  presently,  it  was  rumoured 
that  the  duck-herd  girl  was  to  become  a  mother. 
But  the  Emperor  was  angry,  he  could  not  believe 


LAMASERIE. 

( See  page  308) 


m 


CARTS    AT   THE    FAIR. 
(See  page  305) 


VALLEY   OF   THE   DEAD   GODS    808 

the  child  was  his,  and  he  turned  her  out  to  wander, 
desolate  and  forlorn,  upon  the  hills.  At  first  she 
despaired,  but  presently  she  took  courage,  had  she 
not  been  raised  from  a  duck-herd  to  an  Emperor's 
wife,  and  was  she  not  to  bear  his  son,  and  by  her 
faith  in  herself  she  persuaded  some  shepherds  who 
tended  their  sheep  upon  the  other  side  of  the  valley 
from  the  wall  that  surrounded  the  Emperor's 
pleasure-grounds  to  take  her  in,  and  here  her  son 
was  born. 

And  that  night  the  Emperor  dreamed  another 
dream.  He  dreamed  that  a  most  illustrious  son  had 
been  born  to  him  that  very  night.  He  sent  to  make 
inquiries  and  the  only  one  of  his  wives  or  concubines 
who  had  borne  a  son  that  night,  was  the  woman  he 
had  driven  from  him  with  contumely.  So  he  took 
her  back  with  honour,  and  his  dream — both  his 
dreams  were  fulfilled,  for  the  son  that  was  born  to 
him  that  night  among  the  hills  was  the  illustrious 
Ch'ien  Lung,  the  man  who  at  eighty-three  still  sat 
upon  the  Dragon  Throne  when  George  III.  of 
England  sent  Lord  Macartney  on  an  embassy  to 
China  in  1793. 

And  Ch'ien  Lung  was  a  good  son  to  his  mother 
at  least,  and  because  she  was  a  pious  woman,  and 
he  was  born  amidst  those  sheltering  hills,  he  built 
there  a  series  of  temples  to  the  glory  of  God  and  for 
her  pleasure. 

I  was  bound  to  go  and  see  those  temples,  indeed 
I  think  the  man  or  woman  who  went  to  Jehol  and 
did  not  make  a  point  of  going  up  that  valley  must 
lack  something. 

The  drawback  for  me  was  that  I  had  to  go  in  a 
Peking  cart,  and  even  though  those  temples  were 


804  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

built  by  an  Emperor  I  had  no  reason  to  suppose  that 
the  road  that  led  to  them  was  any  better  than  the 
ordinary  Chinese  roads.  It  wasn't,  but  I  don't  know 
that  it  was  worse.  Tuan  engaged  the  old  white 
mule  of  venerable  years,  and  I  think  that  was  an 
advantage,  he  went  so  slowly  that  often  I  was  able 
to  walk.  I  did  not  propose  to  visit  all  of  them,  there 
is  a  family  likeness  between  all  Chinese  temples, 
whatever  be  the  name  of  the  deity  to  whom  they  are 
dedicated,  and  seeing  too  many  I  should  miss  the 
beauty  of  all. 

It  was  a  gorgeous  June  morning  the  day  I  set  out, 
sitting  as  far  forward  as  I  could  in  the  cart  with  Tuan 
on  the  tail  of  the  shaft  and  the  carter  walking  at  the 
mule's  head.  All  round  one  side  of  Cheng  Teh  Fu 
is  built  up  a  high  wall  that  the  Chinese  call  a  break- 
water, and  a  breakwater  I  believe  it  is  indeed  after 
the  summer  rains,  though  then,  the  Jehol  River  ran 
just  a  shallow  trickle  at  its  foot.  There  were  many 
little  vegetable  gardens  along  here,  the  ground  most 
carefully  cultivated  and  showing  not  a  weed,  not  a 
stray  blade  of  grass.  "  The  garden  of  every  peasant 
contained  a  well  for  watering  it,"  writes  Sir  George 
Staunton  in  1793,  "and  the  buckets  for  drawing 
up  the  water  were  made  of  ozier  twigs  wattled  or 
plaited,  of  so  close  a  texture  as  to  hold  any  fluid." 
He  might  have  been  writing  of  the  peasants  of  to- 
day. As  I  passed,  with  those  selfsame  buckets  were 
they  watering  their  gardens. 

The  people  were  streaming  out  of  the  town,  most 
of  them  on  foot,  but  there  were  a  few  fat  men  and 
small-footed  women  on  donkeys,  and  one  or  two  of 
the  richer  people,  I  noticed  by  the  women's  dresses 
they  were  mostly  Manchus,  had  blossomed  out  into 


VALLEY   OF   THE   DEAD   GODS     305 

Peking  carts.  For  there  was  a  fair  at  one  of  the 
temples,  a  very  minor  temple ;  and  a  fair  in  China 
seems  to  be  much  what  it  used  to  be  in  England, 
say  one  hundred,  or  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago. 
It  attracts  all  the  country  people  for  miles  round. 
Here  they  were  all  clad  in  blue,  save  the  lamas, 
who  were  in  bright  yellow  and  dingy  red.  There 
were  the  people  who  came  to  worship,  followed  by 
the  people  who  came  to  trade,  who  must  make 
money  out  of  them,  men  buying,  selling,  begging, 
men  and  women  clad  in  neat  blue  cotton,  and  in 
the  dingiest,  dirtiest  rags,  men  gathering  the 
droppings  of  the  mules  and  donkeys,  and — how  it 
made  me  think  of  the  historical  novels  I  used  to  love 
to  read  in  the  days  when  novels  fascinated  me — 
gentlemen  with  hooded  hawks  upon  their  wrists. 
All  of  them  wended  their  way  along  this  road,  this 
beautiful  road,  this  very,  very  bad  road,  and  I  went 
along  with  them,  the  woman  who  was  not  a 
missionary,  who  was  travelling  by  herself,  and  who, 
consequently,  was  an  object  of  interest  to  all,  far 
outrivalling  the  fair,  in  attraction.  It  was  a  scene 
peculiarly  Chinese,  and  it  will  be  many  a  long  year 
before  I  forget  it. 

On  the  left-hand  side  rose  a  steep  ridge  well 
wooded  for  China,  and  on  the  very  top  of  the  ridge 
ran  the  encircling  wall  that  shut  out  all  but  the 
favoured  few  from  the  pleasure-grounds  of  the 
Manchu  Sovereigns.  Six  weeks  before,  up  among 
these  mountains  of  Inner  Mongolia,  all  the  trees 
were  leafless,  and  on  this  day  in  June  the  leaves  of 
the  poplars  and  aspens,  acacias  and  oaks  still  re- 
tained the  delicate,  dainty  green  of  early  spring,  and 
on  the  right  were  the  steep,  precipitous  cliffs  over- 

U 


806  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

looking  the  town.  One  of  these  cliffs  goes  by  the 
sinister  name  of  the  "  Suicide's  Rock."  The 
Chinese,  though  we  Westerners  are  accustomed  to 
regard  them  as  impassive,  are  at  bottom  an  emo- 
tional people.  They  quarrel  violently  at  times,  and 
one  way  of  getting  even  with  an  enemy  or  a  man 
who  has  wronged  them  is  to  dare  him  to  go  over  the 
"  Suicide's  Rock."  To  my  Western  notions  it  is  not 
quite  clear  how  the  offender  is  scored  off,  for  the 
challenger  must  be  prepared  to  accompany  the 
challenged  on  his  dreadful  leap.  Yet  they  do  it. 
Three  times  in  the  six  years  the  missionaries  have 
been  here  have  a  couple  gone  over  the  cliff,  to  be 
dashed  to  pieces  on  the  rocks  below. 

But  that  sinister  cliff  was  soon  passed,  and  turning 
a  little  with  the  wall  we  went  up  a  valley,  and  up 
that  valley  for  perhaps  eight  miles,  embosomed 
among  the  folds  of  the  hills,  hills  for  the  most  part 
steep,  rounded,  and  treeless,  are  the  temples,  red, 
and  gold,  and  white,  against  the  green  or  brown 
of  the  hills. 

To  the  glory  of  God!  Surely.  Surely.  An  ideal 
place  for  temples  whoever  placed  them  there,  artist 
or  Emperor,  holy  man,  or  grateful  son. 

"  Idols.  Idols,"  say  the  missionaries  at  Jehol 
sadly,  those  good,  kindly  folk,  whose  life  seemed  to 
me  an  apology  for  living,  a  dedication  of  their  whole 
existence  to  the  austere  Deity  they  have  set  up. 
But  here  I  was  among  other  gods. 

"  We  go  last  first,"  said  Tuan,  and  I  approved. 
There  would  be  no  fear  of  my  missing  something  I 
particularly  wanted  to  see  if  they  were  all  on  my 
homeward  path. 

"B-rrr!   B-rrr!   B-rrr!"  cried  my  "  cartee  man" 


i 

W       <D 


VALLEY   OF   THE   DEAD   GODS    807 

encouraging  his  old  mule,  and  as  we  went  along  the 
road,  up  the  valley,  and  everywhere  in  this  treeless 
land,  the  temples  were  embowered  in  groves  of 
trees,  sometimes  fir-trees,  sometimes  acacia  or  white 
poplar,  and  always  on  the  road  we  passed  the  blue- 
clad  people,  and  out  of  the  carts  peeped  the  Manchu 
ladies  with  highly  painted  faces  and  flower-decked 
hair,  till  at  last  we  came  to  a  halt  under  a  couple  of 
leafy  acacia-trees,  by  a  bridge  that  had  once  been 
planned  on  noble  lines.  And  bridges  are  needed 
here,  for  the  missionaries  told  me  that  a  very  little 
rain  will  put  this  road,  that  is  axle-deep  in  dust,  five 
feet  under  water.  But  the  bridge  was  broken,  the 
stones  of  the  parapet  were  lying  flat  on  one  side ; 
the  stones  that  led  up  to  it  were  gone  altogether. 
And  as  the  bridge  that  led  up  to  it  so  was  the 
temple. 

Tuan,  with  some  difficulty,  made  me  understand 
it  was  the  Temple  of  the  five  hundred  and  eight 
Buddhas,  and  as  I  went  in,  attended  by  a  priest  in 
the  last  stages  of  dirt  and  shabbiness,  I  saw  rows 
upon  rows  of  seated  Buddhas  greater  than  life-size, 
covered  with  gold  leaf  that  shone  out  bright  in  the 
semi-darkness,  with  shaven  heads  and  faces,  sad  and 
impassive,  gay,  and  laughing,  and  frowning.  Dead 
gods  surely,  for  the  roof  is  falling  in,  the  hangings 
are  tatters,  and  the  dust  of  years  lies  thick  on  floor, 
on  walls,  on  the  Buddhas  themselves.  There  was 
a  pot  of  sand  before  one  golden  figure  rather  larger 
than  the  rest,  and  I  burned  incense  there,  bowing 
myself  in  the  House  of  Rimmon,  because  I  do  not 
think  that  incense  is  often  burned  now  before  the 
dead  god. 

They  are  all   dead  these    gods   in   the   temples 


308  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

builded  by  a  pious  Emperor  for  his  pious  mother. 
The  next  I  visited  was  a  lamaserie,  built  in  imitation 
of  the  Po-Ta-La  in  Lhasa.  It  climbs  up  the  steep 
hill-side,  story  after  story,  with  here  and  there  on  the 
various  stages  a  pine-tree,  and  the  wind  whispers 
among  its  boughs  that  the  Emperor  who  built  and 
adorned  it  is  long  since  dead,  the  very  dynasty  has 
passed  away,  and  the  gods  are  forgotten.  For- 
gotten indeed.  I  got  out  of  my  cart  at  the  bottom 
of  the  hill,  and  the  gate  opened  to  me,  because  the 
General  had  sent  to  say  that  one  day  that  week  a 
foreign  woman  was  coming  and  she  must  have  all 
attention,  else  I  judge  I  might  have  waited  in  vain 
outside  those  doors.  Inside  is  rather  a  gorgeous 
p'ia  lou,  flanked  on  either  side  by  a  couple  of 
elephants.  I  cannot  think  the  man  who  sculptured 
them  could  ever  have  seen  an  elephant,  he  must 
have  done  it  from  description,  but  he  has  contrived 
to  put  on  those  beasts  such  a  very  supercilious 
expression  it  made  me  smile  just  to  look  at  them. 

From  that  p'ia  lou  the  monastery  rises.  Never 
in  my  life  before  have  I  seen  such  an  effect  of  sheer 
steep  high  walls.  I  suppose  it  must  be  Tibetan,  for 
it  is  not  Chinese  as  I  know  the  Chinese.  Stage 
after  stage  it  rose  up,  showing  blank  walls  that  once 
were  pinkish  red,  with  square  places  like  windows, 
but  they  were  not  windows,  they  were  evidently  put 
there  to  catch  the  eye  and  deepen  the  effect  of 
steepness.  Stage  after  stage  I  climbed  up  steep  and 
narrow  steps  that  were  closed  alongside  the  wall, 
and  Tuan,  according  to  Chinese  custom,  supported 
my  elbow,  as  if  it  were  hardly  likely  I  should  be 
capable  of  taking  another  step.  Also,  according 
to  his  custom,  he  had  engaged  a  ragged  follower  to 


VALLEY  OF   THE   DEAD   GODS    309 

carry  my  camera,  and  a  half-naked  little  boy  to  bear 
the  burden  of  the  umbrella.  I  don't  suppose  I 
should  have  said  anything  under  any  circumstances, 
China  had  taught  me  my  limitations  where  my  ser- 
vants were  concerned,  but  that  day  I  was  glad  of 
his  aid,  for  this  Tibetan  temple  meant  to  me  steep 
climbing.  I  have  no  use  for  stairs.  Stage  after 
stage  we  went,  and  on  each  platform  the  view  be- 
came wider,  far  down  the  valley  I  could  see,  and 
the  hills  rose  range  after  range,  softly  rounded, 
rugged,  fantastic,  till  they  faded  away  in  the  far  blue 
distance.  I  had  thought  the  Nine  Dragon  Temple 
wonderful,  but  now  I  knew  that  those  men  of  the 
Ming  era  who  had  built  it  had  never  dreamed  of 
the  glories  of  these  mountains  of  Inner  Mongolia. 
I  was  weary  before  I  came  to  the  last  pine-tree,  but 
still  there  was  a  great  walled,  flat- topped  building 
towering  far  above  me,  its  walls  the  faded  pinkish 
red,  on  the  edge  of  its  far-away  roof  a  gleam  of  gold. 
The  steps  were  so  narrow,  so  steep,  and  so 
rugged,  that  if  I  had  not  been  sure  that  never  in 
my  life  should  I  come  there  again  I  should  have 
declined  to  go  up  them,  but  I  did  go  up,  and  at  the 
top  we  came  to  a  door,  a  door  in  the  high  blind  wall 
that  admitted  us  to  a  great  courtyard  with  high  walls 
towering  all  round  it  and  a  temple,  one  of  the  many 
temples  in  this  building,  in  the  centre.  The  temple 
was  crowded  with  all  manner  of  beautiful  things, 
vases  of  cloisonne,  figures  overlaid  with  gold  leaf, 
hangings  of  cut  silk,  the  chair  of  the  Dalai  Lama  in 
gold  and  carved  lacquer-work,  the  mule-saddle  used 
by  the  Emperor  Ch'ien  Lung,  lanterns,  incense 
burners,  shrines,  all  heaped  together  in  what  seemed 
to  me  the  wildest  confusion,  and  everything  was 


810  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

more  than  touched  with  the  finger  of  decay.  All 
the  rich,  red  lacquer  was  perished,  much  of  the  china 
and  earthenware  was  broken,  the  hangings  were 
rotted  and  torn  and  ragged,  the  paint  was  peeling 
from  stonework  and  wood,  the  copper  and  brass  was 
green  with  rust.  Ichabod!  Ichabod!  The  gods 
are  dead,  the  great  Emperor  is  but  a  name. 

It  was  oppressive  in  there  too,  for  the  blank  walls 
towered  up  four  sides  square,  the  bright  blue  sky 
was  above  and  the  sun  was  shining  beyond,  but  the 
mountain  breezes  for  at  least  one  hundred  and  fifty 
years  have  not  been  able  to  get  in  here,  and  it  was 
hot,  close,  and  airless.  Once  there  were  more  steps 
that  led  up  to  the  very  top  of  the  wall,  but  they  are 
broken  and  dangerous  now,  crumbling  to  ruin,  and 
as  far  as  I  could  make  out  from  Tuan's  imperfect 
English  no  one  has  been  up  them  for  many  a  long 
day.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  go  away 
from  this  airless  temple  and  make  my  way  down, 
down  to  the  platform  where  are  its  foundations,  and 
thence  down,  down,  by  the  little  plateaux  where  the 
pine-trees  grow,  by  the  rough  and  broken  paths  to 
the  floor  of  the  valley  again. 

Sightseeing  always  wearies  me.  I  want  to  see 
these  places,  I  want  to  know  what  they  are  like,  I 
want  to  be  in  a  position  to  talk  about  them  to  people 
who  have  also  been  there — they  are  the  people  who 
are  most  interested  in  one's  doings — but  the  actual 
doing  of  the  sightseeing  I  always  find  burdensome. 
Now  having  done  so  much  I  was  tempted  to  go  back 
and  say  I  had  had  enough,  for  the  time  being,  at  any 
rate,  but  then  I  remembered  I  could  not  indefinitely 
trespass  upon  the  kindness  of  my  hosts,  I  must  go 
soon,  and  I  should  never,  never  come  back  to  this 


TEMPLE  AT  THE  TOP  OF  LAMASERIE. 
(See  page  jog) 


FARMHOUSE  ABOVE  THE  MARBLE  PRIEST. 
(See  page  376) 


VALLEY  OF  THE   DEAD   GODS    811 

valley.  Still  I  was  desperately  tired  and  sorely 
tempted  to  give  up,  and  then  I  remembered  the  two 
frogs  who  fell  into  a  pitcher  of  milk.  I  don't  think 
^Esop  told  the  story,  but  he  ought  to  have  done  so. 
They  swam  round  and  round  hopelessly,  for  there 
was  no  possibility  of  getting  out,  and  one  said  to 
the  other,  "  It's  no  good,  we  may  as  well  give  in. 
It'll  save  trouble  in  the  end,"  and  he  curled  up  his 
legs  and  sank  to  the  bottom  of  the  milk  and  was 
drowned.  But  the  other  frog  was  made  of  sterner 
stuff. 

"  I  think  I'll  just  hustle  round  a  bit,"  said  he, 
needless  to  say  he  was  an  American  frog,  "who 
knows  what  may  happen."  So  he  swam  round  and 
round,  and  sure  enough  when  they  looked  into  that 
pitcher  in  the  morning  there  he  was  sitting  on  a  little 
pat  of  butter! 

I  thought  of  that  frog  as  I  sat  at  the  door  of  the 
next  temple  we  drove  up  to,  and  I,  weary  and  tired 
and  a  little  cross,  had  to  wait  some  time,  for  the  priest 
who  had  the  keys  was  not  there.  Of  course  I  had 
sent  no  word  that  I  was  coming  and  it  was  unreason- 
able of  me  to  expect  that  the  priest  should  wait  from 
dawn  till  dark  for  my  arrival.  With  me  waited  a 
little  crowd  of  people,  men,  women,  and  children, 
that  gradually  grew  in  numbers,  and  when  the  cus- 
todian at  last  arrived  it  was  evident  they  all  intended 
to  take  advantage  of  my  presence  and  go  in  and  see 
the  temple  too.  I  had  not  the  least  objection, 
neither,  it  seemed,  had  the  priest.  They  were 
holiday-makers  from  the  fair,  and  they  probably 
gave  him  some  small  trifle.  Tuan  decided  that  we 
should  give  eighty  cents,  roughly  about  one  and 
eightpence,  or  forty  cents  American  money. 


312  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

And  glad  indeed  was  I  that  I  had  waited.  Not 
that  the  temple  differed  much  inside  the  courtyard 
and  the  sanctuary  from  the  other  temples  I  have 
seen,  all  was  the  same  ruin  and  desolation,  only 
after  I  had  climbed  up  many  steps,  roughly  made 
of  stones  and  earth,  we  came  upon  a  platform  from 
which  the  roof  was  visible.  The  Emperor's  Palace, 
they  call  this,  or  the  Bright-roofed  Temple,  and 
truly  it  is  well-named.  Its  roof,  with  dragons 
running  up  all  four  corners,  is  of  bronze  covered 
with  gold,  and  gleams  and  glitters  in  the  sunshine. 
Solomon's  Temple,  in  all  its  glory,  could  not  have 
been  more  wonderful,  and  as  I  tried  to  photograph 
it,  though  no  photograph  can  give  any  idea  of  its 
beauty,  some  girls,  Manchu  by  their  head-dresses, 
with  flowers  in  their  hair,  giggled  and  pointed,  and 
evidently  discussed  me.  I  thought  they  would 
come  in  well — a  contrast  to  that  gorgeous  roof, 
but  a  well-dressed  Chinese — not  in  foreign  clothes,  I 
imagine  the  General's  secretary  is  the  only  man  up 
among  these  hills  who  could  indulge  in  such 
luxuries,  drove  them  away  and  then  came  and  apolo- 
gised, through  Tuan,  for  their  behaviour.  I  said, 
truly  enough,  that  I  did  not  mind  in  the  least,  but 
he  said,  as  far  as  I  -  could  make  out,  that  their 
behaviour  was  unpardonable,  so  I  am  afraid  they 
hadn't  admired  me,  which  was  unkind,  considering 
I  had  taken  them  in. 

The  next  temple,  a  mass  of  golden  brown  and  green 
tiled  roofs,  looked  loveliest  of  all  in  its  setting, 
against  the  hill-side.  The  roofs,  broken  and  irregu- 
lar, peeped  out  from  among  the  firs  and  pines,  and 
there  was  a  soft  melody  in  the  air  as  we  approached, 
for  a  wind,  a  gentle  wind  had  arisen,  and  every  bell 


VALLEY   OF   THE    DEAD   GODS    313 

hanging  at  the  corners  of  the  many  roofs  was 
chiming  musically.  I  do  not  know  any  sweeter 
sound  than  the  sound  of  those  temple  bells  as  the 
evening  falls.  This  was  an  extensive  place  of  many 
courtyards,  climbing  up  the  hill  like  the  lamaserie. 
the  Ta  Fo  Hu  they  call  it  or  "Great  Buddha 
Temple,"  for  in  one  of  the  temples,  swept  and 
garnished  better  than  any  temples  I  had  seen  before, 
was  a  colossal  figure  seventy  feet  high  with  many 
arms  outstretched  and  an  eye  in  the  palm  of  every 
hand.  It  is  surely  a  very  debased  Buddhism,  but  I 
see  the  symbolism,  the  hand  which  bestows  and  the 
eye  which  sees  all  things.  But  for  all  the  beauty  of 
the  symbolism  it  was  ugly,  as  all  the  manifestations 
of  the  Deity,  as  conceived  by  man,  are  apt  to  be. 
The  stone  flooring  was  swept,  but  the  gold  is 
falling  from  the  central  figure,  the  lacquer  is 
perished,  the  hangings  are  torn  and  dust-laden 
beyond  description,  and  the  only  things  of  any  beauty 
are  walls  which  are  covered  with  little  niches  in 
which  are  seated  tiny  golden  Buddhas,  hundreds  of 
them.  I  wanted  to  buy  one  but  the  priests  shook 
their  heads,  and  it  would  have  been  a  shame  to 
despoil  the  temple.  Even  if  they  had  said,  "  Yes," 
I  don't  know  that  I  would  have  taken  it. 

There  were  many  priests  here,  shaven-headed  old 
men  and  tiny  children  in  brilliant  yellow  and  purplish 
red,  but  they  were  all  as  shabby  and  poverty-stricken 
as  the  temple  itself.  I  had  tea  on  one  of  the  many 
platforms  overlooking  many  roofs,  and  a  young  monk 
made  me  a  seat  from  the  broken  yellow  tiles  that 
lay  on  the  ground,  and  the  little  boy  priests  looked 
so  eagerly  at  the  cakes  I  had  brought  with  me — the 
priests  gave  me  tea— that  I  gave  some  to  them  and 


314  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

they  gobbled  them  up  like  small  boys  all  the  world 
over.  Tuan  pointed  out  to  me  some  dark  steps  in 
the  wall.  If  I  went  up  there  I  should  reach  the 
Great  Buddha's  head;  but  I  shook  my  head,  not 
even  the  recollection  of  the  frog  who  gave  up  so 
easily  could  have  made  me  climb  those  steps.  I 
am  not  even  sorry  now  that  I  didn't. 

I  was  very  tired  by  this  time,  and  very  thankful 
that  there  was  only  one  more  temple  to  see.  There 
were  really  eight  in  all,  but  I  was  suffering  from  a 
surfeit  of  temples,  only  I  could  not  miss  this  one,  for 
every  day  when  I  went  for  a  walk  I  could  see  its 
glorious  golden  brown  tiled  roof  amid  the  dark 
green  of  the  surrounding  mountain  pines.  It  was 
unlike  any  Chinese  roof  I  have  seen,  but  it  is  one 
of  the  temples  of  this  valley.  It  is  the  Yuan  T'ing, 
a  temple  built  by  Ch'ien  Lung,  not  for  his  mother 
but  for  a  Tibetan  wife,  after  the  style  of  her  country, 
that  she  might  not  feel  so  lonely  in  a  strange  land. 

Its  pinkish  red  arched  walls  and  gateways  seemed 
quite  close,  but  it  was  exceedingly  difficult  to  get 
at,  particularly  for  a  tired  woman  who,  when  she  was 
not  jolting  in  a  Peking  cart,  had  been  climbing  up 
more  steps  than  even  now  she  cares  to  think  about. 
And  the  temple,  save  for  that  roof,  was  much  like 
every  other  temple,  a  place  of  paved  courtyards 
with  the  grass  and  weeds  growing  up  among  the 
stones,  and  grass  and  even  young  pine-trees  growing 
on  the  tiled  roofs.  The  altars  were  shabby  and  de- 
cayed, and  when  I  climbed  up  till  I  was  right  under 
the  domed  roof — and  it  was  a  steep  climb — more  than 
once  I  was  tempted  to  turn  back  and  take  it  as  read, 
as  they  do  long  reports  at  meetings.  I  found  the  round 
chamber  was  the  roosting-place  of  many  pigeons,  all 


BRIGHT-ROOFED  TEMPLE. 


CORNER    OF    BRIGHT-ROOFED    TEMPLE. 


VALLEY  OF  THE   DEAD   GODS    815 

the  lacquer  was  perished,  the  bronze  rusted,  and 
though  the  attendant  opened  many  doors  with  many 
keys,  I  know  that  the  place  is  seldom  visited,  and 
but  for  that  vivid  roof,  it  must  be  forgotten. 

And  yet  the  people  like  to  look  at  these  things. 
There  was  not  a  crowd  following  me  as  there  was 
at  the  Bright-roofed  Temple,  but  there  was  still  the 
ragged-looking  coolie  who  was  carrying  my  camera. 
I  suspected  him  of  every  filthy  disease  known  in 
China,  and  their  name  must  be  legion,  any  that  had 
by  chance  escaped  him  I  thought  might  have  found 
asylum  with  the  boy  who  bore  my  umbrella.  I  hoped 
that  rude  health  and  an  open-air  life  would  enable 
me  to  throw  off  any  germs.  These  two,  who  had 
had  to  walk  where  I  had  ridden,  I  pitied,  so  I  told 
Tuan  to  say  they  need  not  climb  up  as  I  had  used 
up  all  my  plates  and  certainly  had  no  use  for  an 
umbrella. 

"  She  say  *  No  matter/  "  said  Tuan  including  them 
both  in  the  feminine,  "  She  like  to  come,"  and  I  think 
he  liked  it  as  well,  for  they  escorted  me  with  subdued 
enthusiasm  round  that  domed  chamber  inspecting 
what  must  have  been  a  reproduction  of  a  debased 
Buddhist  hell  in  miniature.  It  was  covered  with  dust, 
faded,  and  weather-worn,  like  everything  else  in  the 
temple,  but  it  afforded  the  four  who  were  with  me 
great  pleasure,  and  when  with  relief  I  saw  a  figure 
instead  of  being  bitten  by  a  snake,  or  eaten  by  some 
gruesome  beast,  or  sawn  asunder  between  two  planks, 
merely  resting  in  a  tree,  Tuan  explained  with  great 
gusto  and  evident  satisfaction :  "  Spikes  in  tree."  He 
took  care  I  should  lose  none  of  the  flavour  of  the 
tortures.  But  even  the  tortures  were  faded  and  worn, 
the  dust  had  settled  on  them,  the  air  and  the  sun 


316  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

had  perished  them,  and  I  could  not  raise  a 
shudder.  Dusty  and  unclean  they  spoiled  for  me 
the  beauty  of  the  golden  roof  and  the  dark  green 
mountain  pines.  I  was  glad  to  go  down  the  many 
steps  again,  glad  to  go  down  to  the  courtyard  where 
the  temple  attendant,  who  might  have  been  a  priest, 
but  was  dressed  in  blue  cotton  and  had  the  shaven 
head  and  queue  that  so  many  of  the  Manchus  still 
affect,  gave  me  tea  out  of  his  tiny  cups,  seated  on 
the  temple  steps.  A  dirty  old  man  he  was,  but  his 
tea  was  perfect,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  not  to  look 
whether  the  cups  were  clean,  for  his  manners  matched 
his  tea. 

And  then  I  went  out  on  to  the  broad  cleared  space 
in  front,  and  feasted  my  eyes  for  the  last  time  on  the 
golden  brown  tiled  roof  set  amongst  the  green  of 
the  pines,  and  clear-cut  against  the  vivid  blue  of  the 
sky. 

And  yet  it  is  not  the  beauty  only  that  appeals, 
there  is  something  more  than  that,  for  even  as  I  look 
at  those  hills,  I  rememBer  another  temple  I  visited 
just  outside  Peking,  a  little  temple,  and  I  went  not 
by  myself  but  with  a  party  of  laughing  young  people. 
There  was  nothing  beautiful  about  this  temple,  the 
walls  were  crumbled  almost  to  dust,  the  roof  was 
falling  in,  upon  the  tiles  the  grasses  were  growing, 
the  green  kaoliang  crept  up  to  the  forsaken  altars, 
and  the  dust-laden  wind  of  Northern  China  swept  in 
through  the  broken  walls  and  caressed  the  forgotten 
gods  who  still  in  their  places  look  out  serenely  on 
the  world  beyond. 

I  could  not  but  remember  Swinburne,  "  Laugh  out 
again  for  the  gods  are  dead."  Are  they  dead  ?  Does 
anything  die  in  China? 


VALLEY   OF   THE   DEAD   GODS    317 

In  the  Ming  Dynasty,  some  time  in  the  fifteenth 
century,  when  the  Wars  of  the  Roses  were  raging  in 
England  they  built  this  little  temple,  nearly  three 
hundred  years  before  Ch'ien  Lung  built  the  temples 
in  the  valley  at  Jehol,  and  they  installed  the  gods 
in  all  the  glory  of  red  lacquer  and  gold,  and  when 
the  last  gold  leaf  had  been  laid  on  and  the  last 
touches  had  been  given  to  the  dainty  lacquer  they 
walked  out  and  left  it,  left  it  to  the  soft,  insidious 
decay  that  comes  to  things  forgotten.  For  it  must 
be  remembered,  whether  we  look  at  this  valley  of 
dead  gods  or  this  little  temple  outside  Peking,  that 
when  a  memorial  is  put  up  it  is  not  expected  to  last 
for  ever,  and  no  provision  is  made  or  expected  for  its 
upkeep.  If  it  last  a  year,  well  and  good,  so  was  the 
man  to  whom  it  was  put  up,  valued,  and  if  it  last  a 
hundred  years — if  five  hundred  years  after  it  was 
dedicated  there  still  remains  one  stone  standing  upon 
the  other,  how  fragrant  the  memory  of  that  man  must 
have  been.  It  is  five  hundred  years  since  this  temple 
was  built  and  still  it  endures.  Behind  is  the  wall  of 
the  city,  grim  and  grey,  but  the  gods  do  not  look 
upon  the  wall,  their  faces  are  turned  to  the  south  and 
the  gorgeous  sunshine.  They  still  sit  in  their  places, 
but  the  little  figures  that  once  adorned  the  chamber 
are  lying  about  on  the  ground  or  leaning  up  discon- 
solately against  the  greater  gods,  and  some  of  them 
are  broken.  On  the  ground,  in  the  dust,  was  a 
colossal  head  with  a  face  that  reminded  us  that  the 
silken  robes  of  Caesar's  wife  came  from  China,  for 
that  head  was  never  modelled  from  any  Mongolian, 
dead  or  alive.  A  Roman  Emperor  might  have  sat 
for  it.  The  faces  that  looked  down  on  it,  lying  there 
in  the  dust,  were  Eastern,  there  were  the  narrow 


818  A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 

eyes,  the  impassive  features,  the  thin  lips,  but  this, 
this  was  European,  this  man  had  lived  and  loved, 
desired  and  mourned,  and,  for  there  was  just  a  touch 
of  scorn  on  the  lips,  when  he  had  drained  life  to  its 
dregs,  or  renounced  its  joys,  said  with  bitterness: 
"  All  is  vanity." 

And  the  Chinese  peasants  came  and  looked  at  the 
aliens  having  tiffin  in  the  shade,  and  for  them  our 
broken  meats  were  a  treat.  One  was  crippled  and 
one  was  blind  and  one  was  covered  with  the  sores  of 
smallpox,  so  hideous  to  look  upon  that  the  lady 
amongst  us  who  prided  herself  upon  her  good  looks 
turned  shuddering  away  and  implored  that  they  be 
driven  off,  before  we  all  caught  the  terrible  disease. 

What  could  life  possibly  hold  for  these  people? 
Surely  for  them  the  gods  are  dead  ? 

I  talked  with  an  old  woman,  dirty  and  wrinkled, 
with  a  bald  head  and  maimed  feet. 

"  She  asks  how  old  you  are  ? "  translated  the 
young  man  beside  me. 

"Tell  her  I  am  sixty."  I  thought  it  would 
sound  more  respectable. 

"  A-a-h !  "  She  looked  at  me  a  moment.  "  She 
says,"  he  went  on  translating,  "  that  you  have  worn 
better  than  she  has,  for  she  is  sixty  too.  And  have 
you  any  sons  ?  " 

For  a  moment  I  hesitated,  but  I  was  not  going  to 
lose  face,  what  would  she  think  of  a  woman  without 
sons,  so  I  laid  my  hand  on  his  arm,  and  smiled  to 
indicate  that  he  was  my  son. 

"  A-a-h ! "  and  she  talked  and  smiled. 

"What  does  she  say?"  He  looked  a  little  shy. 
"Tell  me." 

"She   says   you   are   to    be  congratulated,"   and 


YUAN  T'lNG  ROUND-ROOFED  TIBETAN  TEMPLE. 


MING  TEMPLE  OUTSIDE  PEKING. 


VALLEY   OF   THE   DEAD   GODS    319 

indeed  he  was  a  fine  specimen  of  manhood.  "  She 
says  she  has  three  sons." 

And  alas,  alas,  I  had  brought  it  on  myself,  for  I 
was  not  to  be  congratulated,  I  have  no  son,  but  I 
was  answered  too.  I  have  called  the  gods  dead,  but 
they  are  not  dead.  What  if  the  temple  crumbles? 
There  is  the  cloudless  sky  and  the  growing  green 
around  it.  This  woman  was  old,  and  grey,  and 
bent.  The  gods  have  given  her  three  sons,  and  she 
is  content.  This  child  had  the  smallpox,  and  by 
and  by  when  it  shall  have  passed — Ah  but  that  is 
beyond  me.  What  compensation  can  there  be  for 
the  scarred  face  and  blinded  eyes?  Only  if  we 
understood  all  things,  perhaps  the  savour  would  be 
gone  from  life.  Behind  all  is  the  All  Merciful,  the 
dead  gods  in  the  temples  are  but  a  manifestation  of 
the  Great  Power  that  is  over  all. 

I  thought  of  that  little  temple  outside  the  walls  of 
Peking,  and  the  old  woman  who  congratulated  me 
on  the  son  I  had  not  as  I  stood  taking  my  last  look 
at  the  Yuan  T'ing.  And  then  I  looked  again  away 
down  the  valley  to  the  folds  of  the  hills  where  the 
other  temples  nestled,  embowered  in  trees.  Far 
away  I  could  see  the  sheer  walls  of  the  Po  Ta  La 
climbing  up  the  hill-side  golden  and  red  and  white 
with  the  evening  sunlight  falling  upon  them,  and 
making  me  feel  that  just  so  from  this  very  spot  at 
this  very  hour  they  should  be  looked  at,  and  then 
I  went  down,  a  ten  minutes'  weary  scramble,  I 
was  very,  very  tired,  to  my  cart  and  across  the  Jehol 
River  again,  back  to  the  missionary  compound. 

Never  again  shall  I  visit  that  valley  of  temples 
that  lies  among  the  hills  of  Inner  Mongolia,  never 
again,  and  though,  of  course,  since  the  days  of 


820  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

Marco  Polo  Europeans  have  visited  it,  it  is  so  dis- 
tant, so  difficult  to  come  at  that  they  have  not  gone 
in  battalions.  But  those  temples  in  the  folds  of  the 
hills  are  beautiful  beyond  dreaming,  and  though 
their  glory  has  gone,  still  in  their  decay,  with  the 
eternal  hills  round  and  behind  them,  they  form  a 
fitting  memorial  to  the  man  who  set  them  there  to 
the  glory  of  God  and  for  his  humble  mother's  sake. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

IN  A  WUPAN 

The  difficulties  of  the  laundry — A  friend  in  need — A  strange 
picnic  party — The  authority  of  the  parent — Travelling  in  a 
mule  litter — Rain — A  frequented  highway — Yellow  oiled 
paper — Restricted  quarters — Dodging  the  smoke — "  What  a 
lot  you  eat!  " — Charm  of  the  river — Modest  Chinamen — The 
best-beloved  grandchild — The  gorges  of  the  Lanho — The 
Wall  again — Effect  of  rain  on  the  Chinaman — The  captain's 
cash-box — A  .gentleman  of  Babylon — Lanchou. 

AND  now  it  was  time  to  bid  farewell  to  my  kind  hosts 
and  start  back  to  Peking.  Thank  goodness  it  was 
going  to  be  fairly  easy.  Instead  of  the  abominable 
cart  I  was  going  to  float  down  the  River  Lan  in  a 
wupan,  a  long,  narrow,  flat-bottomed  boat. 

First  I  sent  my  servant  with  my  card  to  the  Tartar 
General  to  thank  him  for  all  his  kindness.  This 
brought  Mr  Wu  down  again  with  the  General's  card 
at  the  most  awkward  hour  of  course,  in  the  middle  of 
tiffin,  and  Mr  Wu,  much  to  my  surprise,  was  dignified 
and  even  stately  in  full  Chinese  dress.  He  was  all 
grey  and  black.  His  petticoat  or  coat  or  whatever 
it  is  called  was  down  to  his  ankles  and  was  of  silk, 
he  wore  a  little  sleeveless  jacket,  and  his  trousers 
were  tied  in  with  neat  black  bands  at  his  neat  little 
ankles.  So  nice  did  he  look,  such  a  contrast  to  the 
commonplace  little  man  I  had  seen  before,  that  I 
felt  obliged  to  admire  him  openly.  Besides,  I  am 

321  x 


822  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

told  that  is  quite  in  accordance  with  Chinese  good 
manners. 

He  received  my  compliments  with  a  smile,  and 
then  explained  the  reason  of  the  change. 

"  Must  send  shirt,  collar,  Tientsin,  be  washed.  I 
very  poor  man,  no  more  got." 

And  Tientsin  was  three  or  four  days  by  river, 
sometimes  much  more,  as  well  as  five  hours  by  train ! 
I  felt  he  had  indeed  done  me  an  honour  when  he 
had  used  up  his  available  stock  of  linen  in  my  enter- 
taining, and  to  think  I  had  only  admired  him  when 
he  was  in  native  dress ! 

Another  Chinese  gentleman  came  in  that  day  and 
was  introduced  to  me.  He  contented  himself  with 
Chinese  dress,  and  he  had  more  English,  though  it 
was  of  a  peculiar  order. 

"  But  I  hate  to  hear  people  laugh  at  Mr  Chung's 
English,"  said  the  missionary  who  was  a  man  of 
the  world.  "  He  was  a  good  friend  to  me  and  mine. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  him,  I  doubt  if  I  or  my  wife  or 
children  would  be  here  now." 

It  was  the  time  of  the  Boxer  trouble,  and  the 
missionary  was  stationed  at  Pa  Kou  where  Mr  Chung 
had  charge  of  the  telegraph  station.  The  mission- 
aries grew  salads  in  their  garden,  which  the  head  of 
the  telegraphs  much  appreciated,  and  even  when  he 
felt  it  wiser  not  to  be  too  closely  in  touch  with  the 
foreigners,  he  still  sent  down  a  basket  for  a  salad 
occasionally.  One  day  in  the  bottom  of  the  basket 
he  put  a  letter.  "  The  foreign  warships  are  attack- 
ing the  Taku  Forts,"  it  ran,  "better  get  away.  I 
am  keeping  back  the  news." 

But  the  missionary  could  not  get  away.  Up  and 
down  the  town  he  went,  but  he  could  get  no  carts. 


IN    A    WUPAN  323 

All  the  carters  raised  their  prices  to  something  that 
was  prohibitive,  even  though  death  faced  them. 
And  then  came  the  basket  again  for  more  salads  and 
in  the  bottom  was  another  letter. 

"  The  foreign  ships  have  taken  the  Taku  Forts," 
it  said.  "  I  am  keeping  back  the  news.  Go  away  as 
soon  as  possible." 

And  then  the  missionary  spoke  outright  of  his 
dilemma,  and  Mr  Chung  went  to  the  Prefect  of  the 
town  and  enlisted  him  on  their  side.  The  carters 
were  sent  for. 

"  You  would  not  go,"  said  the  Prefect,  "  when  this 
man  offered  you  a  great  sum  of  money,"  it  sounded 
quite  Biblical  as  he  told  it.  "Now  you  will  go 
for  the  ordinary  charge  or  I  will  take  off  your 
heads." 

So  two  carts  were  got,  and  the  missionary,  his 
wife,  and  children,  and  as  much  of  their  household 
goods  as  they  could  take,  were  hustled  into  them, 
and  they  started  off  for  the  nearest  port. 

"  If  ever  I  am  in  a  hole  again  I  hope  I  travel  with 
such  women,"  said  the  missionary ;  "  they  were  as 
cheerful  as  if  it  was  a  picnic-party." 

All  went  well  for  a  couple  of  days,  and  then  one 
day,  passing  through  a  town,  a  man  came  up  and 
addressed  them,  and  said  he  was  servant  to  some 
Englishmen,  a  couple  of  mining  engineers,  who  were 
held  up  in  this  town,  because  they  had  heard  there 
was  an  ambush  laid  for  all  foreigners  a  little  farther 
down  the  road.  And  the  missionaries  had  thought 
they  were  the  last  foreigners  left  in  the  country ! 

They  promptly  sought  out  the  Englishmen,  who 
confirmed  the  boy's  story.  It  was  not  safe  to  go 
farther.  The  little  party  decided  to  stick  together, 


824  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

and  finally  the  missionary  went  to  the  Prefect  and 
told  him  how  the  Prefect  at  Pa  Kou  had  helped 
them,  and  suggested  it  would  be  wise  to  do  likewise, 
especially  as  the  foreigners  were  sure  to  win  in  the 
end. 

The  Prefect  considered  the  matter  and  finally 
promised  to  help  them,  provided  they  put  themselves 
entirely  in  his  hands  and  said  nothing,  no  matter 
what  they  heard.  It  seemed  a  desperate  thing  to  do 
to  put  themselves  entirely  in  the  hands  of  their 
enemies,  but  it  was  the  only  chance,  that  chance  or 
Buckley's  and  Buckley,  says  the  Australian  proverb, 
never  had  a  chance.  They  agreed  to  the  Prefect's 
terms  ;  he  set  a  guard  of  soldiers  over  them,  and  they 
travelled  surrounded  by  them.  But  at  first  they 
were  very  doubtful  whether  they  had  been  wise  in 
trusting  a  man  who  was  to  all  intents  and  purposes 
an  open  enemy. 

"  Where  did  you  get  them  ?  "  asked  the  people  of 
the  soldiers  as  they  passed.  And  the  soldiers 
detailed  at  length  their  capture. 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  them  ?  "  And 
the  soldiers  always  said  that,  by  the  orders  of  the 
Prefect  of  the  town  where  they  had  been  captured, 
they  were  taking  them  on  to  be  delivered  over  to  the 
proper  authorities,  who  would  know  what  to  do  with 
them,  doubtless  the  least  that  could  happen  would 
be  that  they  would  have  their  heads  taken  off. 

And  the  man  who  told  me  the  story  had  lived 
through  such  days  as  that.  Had  seen  his  wife  and 
children  live  through  them! 

But  the  Prefect  was  as  good  as  his  word,  the 
soldiers  saw  them  through  the  danger-zone  to  safety. 

"  But  if  it  had  not  been  for  Mr  Chung  in  the  first 


IN    A    WUPAN  825 

instance "  says  the  missionary,  and  his  gratitude 

was  in  his  voice. 

And  Mr  Chung  had  his  own  troubles.  He  was 
progressive  and  modern,  not,  I  think,  Christian,  and 
he  had  actually  himself  taught  his  daughters  to 
read.  Also  he  had  decided  not  to  bind  their  feet. 
And  then,  the  pity  of  it — and  the  extraordinary 
deference  that  is  paid  to  elders  in  China — there  came 
orders  from  his  parents  in  Canton — he  must  be  a  man 
over  forty — the  daughters'  feet  were  to  be  bound. 

I  was  glad  indeed  to  have  heard  the  story  of  Mr 
Chung  before  I  set  out  on  my  journey. 

The  Lanho  is  seven  miles,  a  two  hours'  journey 
by  mule  litter  or  cart  from  Cheng  Teh  Fu,  and  I 
decided  to  go  by  litter  and  send  my  things  by  cart, 
for,  not  only  did  I  object  to  a  cart,  but  I  thought  I 
would  like  to  see  what  travelling  by  mule  litter  was 
like.  I  am  perfectly  satisfied  now — I  don't  ever 
want  to  go  by  one  again. 

I  had  to  get  in  at  the  missionary  compound, 
because  it  takes  four  men  to  lift  a  litter  on  to  the 
mules,  and  there  was  only  one  to  attend  to  it.  It  was 
early  in  the  morning,  only  a  little  after  six,  but  all  the 
missionaries  walked  about  a  mile  of  the  way  with  me 
— I  felt  it  was  exceedingly  kind  of  them,  because  it 
was  the  only  time  I  ever  saw  men  and  women  to- 
gether outside  the  compound — then  they  bade  me 
good-bye,  and  I  was  fairly  started  on  my  journey. 
I  sat  in  my  litter  on  a  spring  cushion,  lent  me  for 
the  cart  by  a  Chinese  gentleman,  and  I  endeavoured 
to  balance  myself  so  that  the  litter  should  not — as 
it  seemed  to  me  to  be  threatening  to  do — turn  topsy- 
turvy. It  made  me  rather  uncomfortable  at  first, 
because  once  in  there  is  no  way  of  getting  out  with- 


826  A   WOMAN   IN    CHINA 

out  lifting  the  litter  off  the  mules.  You  may  indeed 
slip  down  between  it  and  the  leading  mule's  hind 
legs,  but  that  proceeding  strikes  me  as  decidedly 
risky,  for  a  mule  can  kick  and  his  temper  does  not 
seem  to  be  improved  by  having  the  shafts  of  a  litter 
on  his  back. 

It  was  a  cloudy  morning  and  it  threatened  rain. 
I  had  only  seen  one  day's  rain  since  I  had  been  in 
China.  The  scenery  was  wild  and  grand.  We 
went  along  by  the  Jehol  River,  on  the  edge  of  one 
range  of  precipitous  mountains,  while  the  other,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  river,  towered  above  us.  We 
were  going  along  the  bottom  of  a  valley,  as  is  usual 
in  this  part  of  the  world,  but  as  the  Jehol  is  a  flowing 
river  and  takes  up  a  good  part  of  the  bottom,  we  very 
often  went  along  a  track  that  was  cut  out  of  the 
mountain-side.  The  white  mule  in  front  with  the 
jingling  bells  and  red  tassels  on  his  collar  and  head- 
stall, always  preferred  the  very  edge,  so  that  when  I 
looked  out  of  the  left-hand  side  of  my  litter,  I  looked 
down  a  depth  of  about  thirty  or  forty  feet,  as  far  as  I 
could  guess,  into  the  river-bed  below.  I  found  it 
better  not  to  look.  Not  that  it  was  very  deep  or  that 
there  was  any  likelihood  of  my  going  over.  I  am 
fully  convinced,  in  spite  of  the  objurgations  showered 
upon  him  by  the  driver,  that  that  white  mule  knew 
his  business  thoroughly.  Still  it  made  me  uncom- 
fortable to  feel  so  helpless. 

And  the  way  was  very  busy  indeed,  even  thus 
early  in  the  morning.  All  sorts  of  folk  were  going 
along  it,  there  were  heavy  country  carts  drawn  by 
seven  strong  mules,  they  were  taking  grain  to  the 
river  to  be  shipped  "  inside  the  Wall,"  and  the  road 
that  they  followed  was  abominable.  Every  now  and 


A  RAFT  OF  RAILWAY   SLEEPERS   ON  THE  LANHO. 


A    MULE-LITTER,    BY    THE    LANHO. 


IN    A    WUPAN  827 

again  they  would  stick  in  the  heavy  sand  or  ruts,  or 
stones  of  the  roadway — everything  that  should  not 
be  in  a  road,  according  to  our  ideas,  was  there — and 
the  driver  would  promptly  produce  a  spade  and 
dig  out  the  wheels,  making  the  way  for  the  next  cart 
that  passed  worse  than  ever.  Two  litters  passed  as 
empty,  and  we  met  any  number  of  donkeys  laden, 
I  cannot  say  with  firewood,  but  with  bundles  of 
twigs  that  in  any  other  country  that  I  know  would 
not  be  worth  the  gathering,  much  less  the  transport, 
but  would  be  burnt  as  waste.  And  there  were 
numberless  people  on  foot,  this  was  evidently  a  much- 
frequented  highway,  since  it  was  busy  now  when 
it  was  threatening  rain,  for  no  Chinese  go  out  in  the 
rain  if  they  can  help  it.  I  thoroughly  sympathise,  I 
should  think  twice  myself  before  going  if  I  had  but 
one  set  of  clothes  and  nowhere  to  dry  them  if  they 
got  wet.  The  hill-sides  were  rocky  and  sterile,  but 
wherever  there  was  a  flat  place,  wherever  there  was 
a  little  pocket  of  fertile  ground,  however  inaccessible 
it  might  appear,  it  was  carefully  cultivated,  so  was 
all  the  valley  bottom  along  the  banks  of  the  river, 
and  all  this  ground  was  crying  out  for  the  rain.  And 
then  presently  down  it  came,  heavy,  pouring  rain 
such  as  I  had  only  seen  once  before  in  China.  It 
drove  across  our  pathway  like  a  veil,  all  the  rugged 
hills  were  softened  and  hidden  in  a  grey  mist,  and 
my  muleteer  drew  over  and  around  me  sheets  of 
yellow  oiled  paper  through  which  I  peered  at  the 
surrounding  scenery.  I  wasn't  particularly  anxious 
to  get  wet  myself,  because  I  did  not  see  in  an  open 
boat  how  on  earth  I  was  ever  to  get  dry  again,  and 
three  or  four  days  wet  or  even  damp,  would  not  have 
been  either  comfortable,  or  healthy. 


828  A   WOMAN   IN    CHINA 

At  last  we  arrived  at  the  river,  a  broad,  swift- 
flowing,  muddy  river  running  along  the  bottom  of 
the  valley  and  apparently  full  to  the  brim,  at  least 
there  were  no  banks,  and  needless  to  say,  of  course, 
there  was  not  a  particle  of  vegetation  to  beautify  it. 
There  was  a  crossing  here  very  like  the  ferrying- 
place  I  had  crossed  on  my  journey  up,  and  there 
were  a  row  of  long  boats  with  one  end  of  them  against 
the  bank.  It  was  raining  hard  when  I  arrived,  and 
the  litter  was  lifted  down  from  the  mules,  but  the 
only  thing  to  do  was  to  sit  still  and  await  the  arrival 
of  Tuan  and  my  baggage  in  the  Peking  cart. 

They  came  at  last,  and  the  rain  lifting  a  little 
Tuan  set  about  preparing  one  of  the  boats  for  my 
reception. 

I  must  confess  I  looked  on  with  interest,  because 
I  did  not  quite  see  how  I  was  going  to  spend  several 
days  wth  a  servant  and  three  boatmen  in  such 
cramped  quarters.  The  worst  of  it  was  there  was  no 
getting  out  of  it  now  if  I  did  not  like  it,  it  had 
to  be  done.  Though  I  do  worry  so  much  I 
always  find  it  is  about  the  wrong  thing.  I  had 
never — and  I  might  well  have  done  so — thought 
about  the  difficulties  of  this  boat  journey  until  I  stood 
on  the  banks  of  the  river,  committed  to  it,  and  beyond 
the  range  of  help  from  any  of  my  own  colour.  For 
one  moment  my  heart  sank.  If  it  had  been  the 
evening  I  should  have  despaired,  but  with  fourteen 
good  hours  of  daylight  before  me  I  can  always  feel 
hopeful,  especially  if  they  are  to  be  spent  in  the 
open  air.  The  wupan  is  about  thirty-seven  feet 
long,  flat  bottomed,  and  seven  feet  wide  in  the 
middle,  tapering  of  course  towards  the  ends.  In 
the  middle  V-shaped  sticks  hold  up  a  ridge  pole,  and 


IN    A    WUPAN  329 

across  this  Tuan  put  a  couple  of  grass  mats  we  had 
bought  for  this  purpose,  then  he  produced  some 
unbleached  calico — and  when  I  think  of  what  I  paid 
for  that  unbleached  calico,  and  how  poor  the  Chinese 
peasants  are,  I  am  surprised  that  the  majority  of  them 
do  not  go  naked — and  proceeded  to  make  of  it  a 
little  tent  for  me  right  in  the  middle  of  the  awning. 
I  stood  it  until  I  discovered  that  the  idea  was  he 
should  sleep  at  one  end  and  the  boatmen  at  the 
other,  and  then  I  protested.  What  I  was  to  be 
guarded  from  I  did  not  know,  but  I  made  him  clearly 
understand  that  one  end  of  the  boat  I  must  have  to 
myself.  There  might  be  a  curtain  across  the  other 
end  of  the  awning,  that  I  did  not  mind,  but  I  must 
be  free  to  go  out  without  stepping  on  sleeping  servant 
or  boatmen.  That  little  matter  adjusted,  much  to 
his  surprise,  the  next  thing  we  had  to  think  about 
was  the  stove.  I  wanted  it  so  placed  that  when  the 
wind  blew  the  matting  did  not  make  a  funnel  that 
would  carry  the  smoke  directly  into  my  face.  But 
that  is  just  exactly  what  it  did  do,  and  I've  come  to 
the  conclusion  there  is  no  possible  way  of  arranging 
a  stove  comfortably  on  a  winding  river.  We  tried 
it  aft,  and  we  tried  it  for'ard,  and  when  it  was  aft  it 
seemed  the  wind  was  behind,  and  when  it  was  for'ard 
the  wind  was  ahead,  and  whichever  way  the  smoke 
came  it  was  equally  unpleasant,  so  I  decided  the 
only  thing  to  be  done  was  to  smile  and  look  pleasant, 
and  be  thankful  that  whereas  I  required  three  meals 
a  day  to  sustain  me  in  doing  nothing,  my  boatmen 
who  did  all  the  work  and  had  a  stove  of  their  own, 
apparently,  sustained  life  on  two.  The  ideal  way 
would  be  to  have  a  companion  and  two  boats,  and 
then  the  trip  would  be  delightful. 


3SO  A   WOMAN   tS   CHINA 

As  it  was  I  found  it  well  worth  doing. 

The  rain  stopped  that  first  day  soon  after  we  left 
the  crossing-place,  and  from  the  little  low  boat  the 
mountains  on  either  side  appeared  to  tower  above 
us,  rugged,  precipitous,  sterile  ;  they  were  right  down 
to  the  water's  edge  and  the  river  wound  round,  and 
on  the  second  day  we  were  in  the  heart  of  the 
mountains,  and  passed  through  great  rocky  gorges. 
It  was  lonely  for  China,  but  just  as  I  thought  that 
no  human  being  could  possibly  live  in  such  a  sterile 
land,  I  would  see  far  up  on  the  hills  a  little  spot  of 
blue,  some  small  boy  herding  goats,  or  a  little 
pocket  of  land  between  two  great  rocks,  carefully 
tilled,  and  the  young  green  crops  just  springing  up. 
And  then  again  there  were  little  houses,  neat,  tidy 
little  houses  with  heavy  roofs,  and  I  wondered  what 
it  must  be  like  to  be  here  in  the  mountains  when 
the  winter  held  them  in  its  grip.  Somehow  it  seemed 
to  me  far  more  lonely  and  desolate  than  anything  I 
had  seen  on  my  way  across  country. 

We  always  tied  up  for  the  men  to  eat  their  midday 
meal,  and  we  always  tied  up  for  the  night.  But  we 
wakened  at  the  earliest  glimmer  of  dawn.  They 
evidently  breakfasted  on  cold  millet  porridge,  and 
I,  generally,  was  up  and  dressed  and  had  had  my 
breakfast  and  forgotten  all  about  it  by  five-thirty  in 
the  morning.  My  bed  took  up  most  of  the  room  in  my 
quarters,  I  dressed  and  washed  on  it,  a  bath  was 
out  of  the  question,  and  pulling  aside  the  curtains 
sat  on  it  and  had  my  breakfast,  the  captain  of  the 
boat,  the  gentleman  with  the  steering-oar,  looking 
on  with  the  greatest  interest. 

He  spoke  to  Tuan  evidently  about  my  breakfast, 
and  I  asked  him  what  he  said. 


A  FAIR  WIND  ON  THE  LANHO. 


MY  BOAT  AND  CREW. 


IN    A    WUPAN  881 

"  She  say  what  a  lot  you  eat,"  said  Tuan.  "  Not 
in  ten  days  she  have  so  much." 

And  I  was  surprised,  because  I  had  thought  my 
breakfast  exceedingly  frugal.  I  had  watched  the 
eggs  being  poached,  and  I  ate  them  without  butter 
or  toast  or  bacon,  I  had  a  dry  piece  of  bread,  tea, 
of  course,  and  some  unappetising  stewed  pears. 
But  by  and  by  I  was  watching  my  captain  shovelling 
in  basinsful  of  millet  porridge,  about  ten  times  as 
much  as  I  ate,  and  I  came  to  the  conclusion  it  was 
the  variety  he  was  commenting  on,  not  the  amount. 

They  were  things  of  delight  those  early  mornings 
on  the  river.  '  At  first  all  the  valley  would  be  wrapped 
in  a  soft  grey  mist,  with  here  and  there  the  highest 
peaks,  rugged  and  desolate,  catching  the  sunlight; 
then  gradually,  gradually,  the  sun  came  down  the 
valley  and  the  mists  melted  before  his  rays,  lingering 
here  and  there  in  the  hollows,  soft  and  grey  and 
elusive,  till  at  last  the  sunlight  touched  the  water 
and  gave  this  muddy  water  of  the  river  a  golden  tint, 
and  all  things  rejoiced  in  the  new-born  day.  The 
little  blue  kingfishers  preened  themselves,  the  blue- 
grey  cranes  with  white  necks  and  black  points  that 
the  Chinese  call  "  long  necks  "  sailed  with  outspread 
wings  slowly  across  the  water,  and  the  sunlight  on 
the  square  sails  of  the  upcoming  boats  made  them 
gleam  snow  white.  For  there  was  much  traffic  on  the 
river.  Desolate  as  the  country  round  was,  the  river 
was  busy.  The  boats  that  were  going  down  stream 
were  rowed,  and  those  that  were  coming  up,  when 
the  wind  was  with  them,  put  out  great  square 
sails,  and  when  it  was  against  them  were  towed 
by  four  men.  They  fastened  the  towing  rope 
to  the  mast,  stripped  themselves,  and  slipping  a 


882  A   WOMAN   IN    CHINA 

loop  over  their  heads  fixed  it  round  their  chests  and 
pulled  by  straining  against  a  board  that  was  fast  in 
the  loop.  The  current  was  strong,  and  it  must  have 
been  hard  work  judging  by  the  way  they  strained  on 
the  rope.  The  missionaries  were  afraid  I  would  be 
shocked  at  the  sight  of  so  many  naked  men,  but  it 
was  the  other  way  round,  my  presence,  apparently 
the  only  woman  on  the  river,  created  great  consterna- 
tion, for  the  Chinaman  is  a  modest  man.  Badly  I 
wanted  to  get  a  photograph  of  those  straining  men, 
for  never  have  I  seen  the  Chinese  to  greater 
advantage.  In  their  shabby  blue  cotton  they  look 
commonplace  and  of  the  slums,  you  feel  they  are 
unwashed,  but  these  suggest  splendid  specimens  of 
brawny  manhood.  They  don't  need  to  be  washed. 
However,  as  we  approached,  boatmen  and  servant 
all  raised  their  voices  in  a  loud  warning  singsong. 
What  they  said,  I  do  not  know,  but  it  must  have 
been  something  like :  "  Oh  brothers,  put  on  your 
clothes.  We  have  a  bothering  foreign  woman  on 
board."  The  result  would  be  a  wild  scramble  and 
everybody  would  be  getting  into  dirty  blue  garments, 
only  some  unfortunate,  who  was  steering  in  a 
difficult  part  or  had  hold  of  a  rope  that  could  not  be 
dropped,  was  left  helpless,  and  he  crouched  down  or 
hid  behind  a  more  lucky  companion.  If  there  had 
been  anybody  with  whom  to  laugh  I  would  have 
laughed  many  a  time  when  we  met  or  passed  boats 
on  the  Lanho.  But  I  never  got  a  really  good  photo- 
graph of  those  towing  men.  My  men  evidently  felt 
it  would  be  taking  them  at  a  disadvantage,  and  the 
production  of  my  camera  was  quite  sufficient  to  send 
us  off  into  mid  stream,  as  far  away  from  the  towing 
boat  as  possible. 


IN    A    WUPAN  888 

Occasionally  the  hills  receded  just  a  little  and  left 
a  small  stretch  of  flat  country  where  there  were 
always  exceedingly  neat-looking  huts.  There  were 
the  neatest  bundles  of  sticks  stacked  all  round  them, 
just  twigs,  and  we  landed  once  to  buy  some,  for  the 
men  cooked  entirely  with  them,  and  my  little  stove 
needed  them  to  start  the  charcoal.  But  oh,  the 
people  who  came  out  of  those  houses  were  dirty. 
Never  have  I  seen  such  unclean-looking  unattrac- 
tive women.  One  had  a  child  in  her  arms  with  per- 
fectly horrible-looking  eyes,  and  I  knew  there  was 
another  unfortunate  going  to  be  added  to  the  many 
blind  of  China.  She  ran  away  at  the  sight  of  me, 
and  so  did  two  little  stark-naked  boys.  I  tempted 
them  with  biscuits,  and  their  grandfather  or  great- 
grandfather, he  might  have  been,  watched  with  the 
deepest  interest.  He  and  I  struck  up  quite  a  friend- 
ship over  the  incident,  smiling  and  laughing  and 
nodding  to  one  another,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Yes,  it 
was  natural  they  should  be  afraid,  but  we — we,  who 
had  seen  the  world — of  course  knew  better."  Then 
he  went  away  and  fetched  back  in  his  arms  another 
small  shaven-headed  youngster  whom  he  patted  and 
petted  and  called  my  attention  to,  as  much  as  to 
say  this  was  little  Benjamin,  the  well-beloved,  had 
I  not  a  biscuit  for  him?  Alas  I  had  been  too  long 
away  from  civilisation  and  I  had  given  away  all  I 
had.  But  when  I  think  about  it,  it  is  always  with 
a  feeling  of  regret  that  I  had  not  a  sweet  biscuit  for 
that  old  Chinaman  up  in  the  mountains  and  his  best- 
beloved  grandson. 

I  saw  one  morning  some  men  fishing  in  the 
shallows  by  a  great  rock,  and  I  demanded  at  once 
that  we  buy  a  fish.  They  were  spearing  the  fish  and 


884  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

we  bought  a  great  mud-fish  for  five  cents,  for  I  saw 
the  money  handed  over,  and  then  the  unfortunate 
fish  with  a  reed  through  his  gills  was  dragged  through 
the  water  alongside  the  boat.  When  I  came  to  eat 
a  small  piece  of  him,  which  I  did  with  interest  I  was 
so  tired  of  chicken,  he  was  abominable,  and  I  smiled 
a  little  ruefully  when  I  found  in  the  accounts  he  was 
charged  at  thirty-five  cents!  Judging  by  the  nasti- 
ness  of  that  fish  one  ought  to  be  able  to  buy  up  the 
entire  contents  of  the  Lanho  for  such  a  sum.  How- 
ever, the  boatmen  ate  him  gladly,  and  I  suppose  if  I 
lived  on  millet  for  breakfast,  tiffin,  and  dinner,  and 
any  time  else  when  I  felt  hungry,  I  might  even 
welcome  a  mud-fish  for  a  change.  Their  only  relish 
appeared  to  be  what  Tuan  called  "sour  pickle." 
There  was  one  most  unappetising-looking  salted 
turnip  which  lasted  a  long  while,  though  every  one 
of  the  crew  had  a  bite  at  it. 

Gorge  after  gorge  we  passed,  and  the  rocks  rising 
above  us  seemed  very  high,  while  the  sun  beating 
down  upon  the  water  in  that  enclosed  space  made  it 
very  hot  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  and  I  was  very 
glad  indeed  of  the  mat  awning,  though,  of  course, 
it  was  of  necessity  so  low  that  even  I,  who  am  a  short 
woman,  could  not  stand  up  underneath,  but  it  kept 
off  the  sun,  and  the  air,  coming  through  as  we  were 
rowed  along,  made  a  little  breeze.  There  were 
rapids,  many  rapids,  but  they  did  not  impress  me. 
I  couldn't  even  get  up  a  thrill,  sometimes  indeed  the 
boat  was  turned  right  round,  but  it  always  seemed 
that  the  worst  that  might  happen  to  me  would  be 
that  I  should  have  to  get  out  and  walk,  and  of  course 
get  rather  wet  in  the  process.  Tuan  made  a  great 
fuss  about  them  all,  "  must  take  care  "  but  the  worst 


IN    A    WUPAN  385 

one  of  all  he  was  so  exceedingly  grave  over  that  I 
felt  at  least  we  were  risking  our  valuable  lives.  It 
was  inside  the  wall  and  was  called  "  Racing  Horse 
Rapid  "  but  it  wasn't  very  bad.  I  have  been  up 
much  worse  rapids  on  the  Volta,  in  West  Africa,  and 
nobody  seemed  to  think  they  were  anything  out  of  the 
ordinary,  but  then  the  negro  has  not  such  a  rooted 
objection  to  water  as  the  Chinaman  apparently  has. 
My  crew  had  to  get  wet,  up  to  their  waists  some- 
times, and  it  was  a  little  rough  on  them — I  remem- 
bered it  in  their  cumshaw — that  having  a  woman  on 
board  their  modesty  did  not  allow  them  to  strip,  and 
they  went  in  with  all  their  clothes  on. 

The  Wall,  broken  for  the  passing  of  the  river,  is 
always  a  wonder,  and  here  it  was  wonderful  as  ever. 
We  stopped  here  for  a  little  in  order,  as  far  as  I 
could  make  out,  that  Tuan  might  get  some  ragged 
specimens  of  humanity  to  pluck  a  couple  of  chickens, 
being  too  grand  a  gentleman  to  do  it  himself,  and 
for  a  brief  space  the  foreshore  was  white  with 
feathers,  for  the  thrifty  Chinaman,  who  finds  a  use 
for  everything,  once  he  has  made  feather  dusters 
has  no  use  for  feathers.  Feather  pillows  he  knows 
not.  But  for  once  Tuan's  skill  in  putting  the  work 
he  was  paid  for  doing,  off  on  to  other  people,  failed 
either  to  amuse  or  irritate  me.  I  had  eyes  for 
nothing  but  the  Wall — the  Wall  above  all  other  walls 
still — for  all  it  is  in  ruins.  As  we  went  down  the 
river  it  followed  along  the  tops  of  the  highest  hills 
for  over  a  mile.  Always  the  Wall  cuts  the  skyline. 
There  is  never  anything  higher  than  the  Wall.  And 
here,  as  if  this  river  valley  must  be  extra  well 
guarded,  on  every  accessible  peak  was  a  watch- 
tower.  They  are  all  in  ruins  now,  but  they  speak 


836  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

forcibly  of  the  watch  and  ward  that  was  kept  here 
once.  There  was  one  square  ruin  on  the  highest 
peak.  As  evening  fell,  heavy,  threatening  clouds 
gathered  and  it  stood  out  against  them.  As  we  went 
far  down  the  valley  it  was  always  visible,  now  to  the 
right  of  us,  now  to  the  left,  as  the  river  wound,  and 
when  I  thought  it  was  gone  in  the  gathering  gloom, 
a  jagged  flash  of  lightning,  out  of  the  black  cloud 
behind  it,  illumined  it  again,  and  for  the  moment  I 
forgot  that  it  was  ruined,  and  thought  only  what  an 
excellent  vantage-point  those  old-time  builders  had 
chosen.  All  the  country  round  must  see  the  beacon 
fire  flaring  there.  And  again  I  thought  of  the  sig- 
nals that  must  have  gone  up,  "  The  Mongols  are 
coming  down  the  river.  The  Manchus  are  gather- 
ing in  the  hills." 

Those  heavy  clouds  bespoke  rain,  and  that 
night  it  came  down,  came  down  in  torrents,  and  if 
there  is  a  more  uncomfortable  place  in  which  to  be 
rained  upon  than  a  small  boat  I  have  yet  to  find  it. 
Those  grass  mats  kept  off  some  of  the  rain,  but 
they  were  by  no  means  as  water-tight  as  I  should 
have  liked.  I  spread  my  burberry  over  my  bed,  put 
up  my  umbrella,  and  stopped  up  the  worst  leaks 
with  all  the  towels  I  could  spare,  and  yet  the  water 
came  in,  and  on  the  other  side  of  my  calico  screen  I 
could  hear  the  men  making  a  few  remarks,  which 
Tuan  told  me  next  day  were  because,  "  she  no  can 
cook  dinner,  no  can  dry  clothes."  I  had  lent  them 
my  charcoal  stove,  but  it  was  small  and  would  only 
dry  "  littee,  littee  clothe  "  so  everybody  including 
myself  got  up  next  morning  in  a  querulous  mood, 
and  very  sorry  for  themselves.  The  others  at  least 
were  earning  their  pay,  but  I  wondered  how  I  was 


IN    A    WUPAN  337 

going  to  make  money  out  of  it,  and  again  I  ques- 
tioned the  curious  fate  that  sent  me  wandering 
uncomfortably  about  the  world,  and  sometimes 
actually — yes  actually  getting  enjoyment  out  of  it. 
I  didn't  enjoy  that  day,  however.  We  went  on  a 
little  and  at  length  we  stopped,  all  the  country  was 
veiled  in  soft  moist  grey  mist,  the  perpetual  sunshine 
of  Northern  China  was  gone,  and  Tuan  and  the 
boatman  came  to  me.  They  proposed,  of  all  the 
Chinese  things  in  this  world  to  do,  to  go  back! 
Why  I  don't  know  now,  for  to  go  back  meant  going 
against  the  stream  and  towing  the  boat!  A  very 
much  harder  job  than  guiding  it  down  stream,  where 
it  would  go  of  its  own  weight.  I  have  not  often  put 
my  foot  down  in  China.  I  have  always  found  it 
best  to  let  my  servants,  or  those  I  employed,  go 
about  things  their  own  way,  but  this  was  too  much 
for  me.  I  made  it  clearly  understood  that  the  boat 
belonged  to  me  for  the  time  being,  and  that  back  I 
would  not  go. 

Tuan  murmured  something  about  some  place 
"  she  get  dry "  and  I  quite  agreed  looking  at  the 
shivering  wretches,  but  that  place  had  got  to  be 
ahead,  not  behind  us.  However,  go  on  they  would 
not,  so  we  pulled  up  against  the  bank  and  all  four 
of  them  cowered  over  the  little  charcoal  stove  till  I 
feared  lest  they  would  be  asphyxiated  with  the 
fumes.  I  got  in  my  bed,  pulled  my  eiderdown 
round  me,  and  thanked  Providence  I  had  it,  a 
sleeping  bag,  and  a  burberry,  and  then  as  best  I 
could  I  dodged  the  drops  that  came  through  the 
matting,  but  I  knew  I  wasn't  nearly  so  uncomfort- 
able as  my  men.  At  last  the  rain  lifted  a  little,  and 
three  rueful  figures  pulled  us  down  to  a  small,  a  very 

Y 


388  A   WOMAN   IN    CHINA 

small  temple  wherein  they  lighted  a  fire  and  cooked 
themselves  a  warm  meal.  By  that  time  the  rain  had 
gone,  and  they  were  smiling  and  cheerful  once  more. 

As  the  result  of  that  rain  the  river  rose  three  feet, 
the  rapids  were  easier  than  ever  to  go  over,  only  of 
course  there  was  the  risk  of  hitting  the  rocks  that 
were  now  submerged,  and  the  waters  were  muddier 
than  ever.  I  felt  as  if  all  those  mountain-sides  were 
being  washed  down  into  the  Lanho,  as  they  probably 
were.  All  along  the  banks,  too,  the  people  were 
collected  gathering — not  driftwood,  for  there  was 
none,  but  driftweed,  gathering  it  in  with  rakes  and 
dipping-in  baskets,  holding  them  out  for  the  water 
to  run  away  and  using  the  residuum  "  for  burn,"  as 
Tuan  put  it.  It  was  dreary,  wet,  grey,  cold.  The 
country  grew  flatter  as  we  came  down  the  river,  the 
hills  receded;  we  were  in  an  agricultural  country 
which  was  benefiting,  I  doubt  not,  by  this  rain,  but 
with  the  mountains  went  the  stern  grandeur,  and 
cold  rain  on  a  flat  country  is  uninspiring.  Be- 
sides breakfast  before  five-thirty  leaves  a  long  day 
before  one,  and  the  incidents  were  so  small.  I 
watched  the  captain  steering  and  refreshing  himself 
with  a  bite  at  a  pink  radish  as  large  and  as  long  as 
a  parsnip,  and  it  looked  cold  and  uninviting.  Surely 
I  ought  to  be  thankful  that  Fate  had  not  caused 
me  to  be  born  a  Chinese  of  the  working  classes. 

The  captain  had  a  large  cash-box  which  reposed 
trustfully  at  the  end  of  my  bed.  Not  that  I  could 
have  got  into  it,  for  it  was  fastened  with  the  sort  of 
padlock  that  I  should  put  on  park  gates,  and  I  cer- 
tainly couldn't  have  carried  it  away,  at  least  not 
unbeknownst,  for  it  was  a  cube  of  at  least  eighteen 
inches.  It  gave  me  the  idea  of  great  wealth,  for 


GOING  TO  THE  DRAGON  BOAT  FEAST. 


COOK  STALL. 


IN    A    WUPAN  339 

never  in  my  life  do  I  expect  to  require  a  cash-box 
like  that.  If  I  did  I  should  give  up  story  writing 
and  grow  old  with  a  quiet  mind.  But  then  I  do  not 
take  my  earnings  in  copper  cash. 

More  and  more  as  we  went  along  the  river  was  T 
reminded  of  my  idea  of  Babylon — Babylon  with  the 
romance  taken  out  of  it,  Babylon  grown  common- 
place. At  one  place  we  stopped  at,  there  came 
down  to  the  ferry  a  short  fat  man  in  blue,  in  a  large 
straw  hat,  leading  a  donkey.  But  he  belonged  to 
no  age,  he  was  Sancho  Panza  to  the  life.  Again 
there  came  a  gentleman  mounted  on  a  mule,  his 
servant  following  slowly  on  a  small  grey  donkey. 
He  was  nicely  dressed  in  darkish  petticoats,  and 
his  servant  wore  the  usual  blue.  They  stood  on  the 
river-bank  and  the  servant  hailed  the  ferry.  With 
a  little  difficulty  the  beasts  were  got  on  board  and 
the  boat  poled  across.  It  was  just  a  wupan  like 
my  own,  decked  in  the  middle  so  that  the  animals 
would  not  have  to  step  down.  The  donkey  came  off 
as  if  it  were  all  in  the  day's  work,  but  the  mule  was 
obstinate,  and  it  took  the  entire  population  of  that 
little  crossing-place,  including  Tuan  and  my  boat- 
men, to  hoist  him  off.  The  person  most  interested, 
the  rider,  never  stirred  a  finger.  True  son  of  Babylon 
was  he.  "  Let  the  slaves  see  to  all  things,"  I  imagine 
him  saying.  There  was  a  little  refreshment  booth, 
and  a  man  selling  long  fingers  of  paste,  or  rather 
fried  batter.  My  captain  handled  one  thoughtfully 
and  then  put  it  back. 

"Doesn't  he  like  it?"  I  asked  Tuan.     It  seemed 
to  me  so  much  nicer  than  the  pink  radish. 

"  She  like,"  said  Tuan,  "too  much  monies.     Very 
dear,"  and  I  think  I  could  have  bought  up  the  whole 


840  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

stock  in  trade  for  twenty  cents,  about  fivepence,  so 
the  cash-box  was  a  fraud  after  all. 

Now  the  hills  had  receded  into  the  dim  distance 
there  were  no  more  rapids,  and  I  was  back  on  the 
great  alluvial  plain  of  Northern  China  once  more. 
The  sun  came  out  in  all  his  glory,  there  were  in- 
numerable boats,  and  the  evening  sunlight  gleamed 
on  their  white  sails.  Many  of  them  were  full  of 
people,  with  many  women  amongst  them,  and  Tuan 
told  me  it  was  the  Dragon  Boat  Festival. 

And  then,  as  the  evening  shadows  were  falling, 
we  came  to  the  port  of  Lanchou  and  my  journey  in 
a  wupan  was  ended. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

A     RIVER    PORT     IN     BABYLON 

The  question  of  squeeze — Batter  fingers  for  the  boatmen — An 
array  of  damp  scarecrows — Ox  carts — Prehistoric  wheels — 
A  decadent  people — Beggars — The  playing  of  a  part — A 
side  show — Cumshaw. 

THEY  tell  me  I  must  not  talk  about  a  river  port  in 
Babylon,  because  Babylon  was  a  city  not  a  country, 
and  it  had  no  river  port,  but  in  that  valley  of 
Mesopotamia  there  must  have  been  in  those  old 
days,  little  places  where  the  people  living  along  the 
banks  landed  their  produce,  or  gathered  it  in,  and 
I  think  they  must  have  resembled  this  river  port 
of  Lanchou  in  Chihli,  to  which  I  came  one  still 
pleasant  evening  in  June. 

The  sun  was  on  the  point  of  setting,  and  I  con,- 
sulted  Tuan  about  where  I  should  go  for  the  night. 
The  inns,  he  opined,  would  be  full,  for  all  the 
country-side  had  come  to  the  feast,  and,  in  truth,  I 
did  not  hanker  much  after  a  Chinese  inn.  I  in- 
finitely preferred  the  wupan,  even  at  its  very  worst, 
when  the  rain  was  coming  through  the  matting.  I 
only  wondered  if  Tuan  and  the  boatmen  would 
think  it  extremely  undignified  of  me  to  stay  where 
I  was.  The  worst  I  knew  there  were  the  cock- 
roaches, and  Heaven  only  knew  what  I  might  find 
in  a  Chinese  inn  in  June. 


842  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

Apparently  Tuan  did  not  think  it  undignified,  and 
the  boatmen  of  course  were  glad. 

''  You  pay  him  one  dollar,"  suggested  Tuan. 
Now  a  dollar  is  a  thousand  cash,  and  a  thousand 
cash,  I  suppose  would  about  fill  that  money-box  of 
his.  He  got  the  dollar,  because  I  paid  it  him  my- 
self, but  what  squeeze  Tuan  extracted  I  am  sure  I 
don't  know.  Some  he  did  get,  I  suppose  as  of 
right,  for  squeeze  seems  to  be  the  accepted  fact  in 
China. 

A  woman  once  told  me  how  she  was  offered 
squeeze  and  a  good  big  squeeze  too. 

She  was  head  of  a  hospital,  and  being  an  attrac- 
tive young  person,  she  used  to  go  out  pretty  often 
for  motor  drives  with  the  locomotive  superintendent 
of  the  nearest  railway.  The  Chinese  took  note  of 
this,  as  apparently  they  do  of  all  things  likely  to 
concern  them,  and  one  day  there  called  upon  her  a 
Chinaman,  well-dressed,  of  the  better  class.  He 
stood  at  the  door  of  her  sitting-room,  shaking  his 
own  hands;  and  bowed  three  times. 

"  What  do  you  want  ? "  said  she,  for  she  had 
never  to  her  knowledge,  seen  him  before. 

He  spoke  as  good  English,  almost  as  she  did 
herself,  and  he  said,  well  it  was  a  little  matter  in 
which  she  might  be  of  service  to  him,  and — yes — 
he  of  service  to  her. 

She  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  "  But  I 
don't  know  you,"  she  said,  puzzled  and  sur- 
prised. 

It  was  a  matter  of  oil,  he  said  at  last,  when  he  got 
to  the  point.  It  was  well  known  that  the  engines 
required  a  great  deal  of  oil,  and  he  had  several 
thousands  of  tons  of  oil  for  sale. 


A  RIVER   PORT   IN   BABYLON    343 

"  But  what  has  that  to  do  with  me  ?  "  asked  the 
girl,  more  surprised  than  ever. 

He  bowed  again.  "You  are  a  great  friend 
nf » 

\JL~~~ 

(i  But  how  do  you  know  that  ? " 

"  Oh  pardon/'  his  hand  on  his  heart,  "  Chinaman 
know  everything.  You  can  help  me." 

"  How?  "  she  said  still  wondering. 

"You  speak  to  Mr  .  He  buy  oil,"  and  he 

looked  at  her  ingratiatingly. 

She  stared  at  him,  hardly  knowing  whether  to  be 
angry  or  not. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  locomotives." 

"  Oh,  but  it  will  pay  you,"  said  he,  and  from  each 
side  out  of  a  long  pocket  he  drew  two  heavy  bags, 
and  planked  them  down  on  her  writing-table.  Still 
she  did  not  understand  what  he  was  driving  at. 

"  For  you,"  said  he,  "  for  a  few  words." 

"Why,  you  are  offering  me  squeeze,"  said  she 
indignantly,  as  the  full  meaning  of  the  thing  flashed 
on  her. 

He  made  a  soothing  sound  with  his  mouth. 
"  Everybody  does  it,"  said  he. 

"  Indeed  I  don't." 

"  Not  enough?  "  said  he.  "  There  is  five  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  there,"  and  he  looked  at  her  ques- 
tioningly.  "Well,"  thoughtfully,  "I  can  make  it 
two  hundred  dollars  more,  I  have  much  oil,"  and 
down  went  another  bag  of  silver.  More  than  six 
months'  salary  was  on  the  table. 

<:  And  suppose,"  said  she,  curious,  "  Mr pays 

no  attention  to  me." 

CTThat  would  be  unfortunate,"  with  a  low  bow, 
"  but  I  think  not.  I  have  much  oil.  I  take  risk." 


344  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

Then  she  rose  up  wrathfully.  "  Take  it  away," 
she  said,  "  take  it  away.  How  dare  you  offer  me 
squeeze !  "  And  he  did  take  it  away,  and  as  he 
probably  knew  her  salary  to  the  very  last  penny, 
thought  her  a  fool  for  her  pains. 

I  don't  know  whether  Tuan  extracted  his  squeeze 
beforehand,  but  I  know  all  three  boatmen  had  the 
long  fingers  of  batter  fried  in  lard  for  their  breakfast 
the  next  morning,  for  I  saw  them  having  them,  and 
Tuan  informed  me  with  a  grin,  "  Missie  pay  dollar. 
Can  do,"  and  I  was  very  glad  I  had  not  patronised 
the  Chinese  inn. 

Of  course  I  rose  very  early.  Before  half-past 
four  I  was  up  and  dressed  and  peeping  out  of  my 
little  tent  at  the  rows  and  rows  of  boats  that  lay 
double-banked  against  the  shore.  The  sun  got  up 
as  early  as  I  did,  and  most  of  those  people  in  the 
boats  were  up  before  him.  The  boats  were  own 
sisters  to  the  one  in  which  I  had  come  down  the 
river,  with  one  mast,  and  shelters  in  the  middle, 
and  all  the  people  had  suffered,  as  we  had  done, 
from  wet,  for  such  a  drying  day  I  have  never  before 
seen.  All  the  sails  of  course  had  to  be  dried,  all 
the  mats,  the  dilapidated  bedding,  and  it  seemed 
most  of  the  clothing,  for  padded  blue  coats  and 
trousers  were  stuck  on  sticks,  or  laid  out  in  the  sun. 
All  the  scarecrows  that  ever  I  had  known,  had 
apparently  come  to  grief  on  that  double-banked  row 
of  boats.  The  banks  were  knee-deep  in  mud,  but 
it  was  sandy  mud  that  soon  dried,  and  by  six  o'clock 
business  on  that  shore  was  in  full  swing.  There  was 
a  theatre  and  fair  going  on  close  at  hand,  but  busi- 
ness had  to  be  attended  to  all  the  same.  These 
boatmen  all  still  wear  the  queue,  so  the  barber  was 


A   RIVER   PORT   IN   BABYLON    345 

very  busy,  as  it  is  of  course  impossible  to  shave  on 
board  a  boat,  and  even  the  immaculate  Tuan  had  a 
fine  crop  of  bristles  all  over  his  head.     They  were 
gone   before  he   gave  me  breakfast  this  morning. 
The  alluvial  mud  of  the  shore  was  cut  into  deep  cart 
ruts,  and  there  were  any  number  of  carts  coming 
down   to   the    boats    and    going   away   from    them. 
There  were  ox  carts  with  a  solitary  ox,  harnessed 
much  as  a  horse  would  be  and  looking  strange  to 
me,   accustomed  to  the  bullock  drays  of  Australia 
with  their  bullocks,  ten  or  twenty  of  them  drawing 
by  a  single  wooden  yoke,  there  were  mule  carts  and 
carts  heavy  with  merchandise  drawn  by  a  mixed  team 
of  mule,  ox,  and  the  small  and  patient  donkey,  and 
the  people  took  from  the  boats  their  loading  of  grain, 
grown  far  away  in  Mongolia,  of  stones,  gathered  by 
the  river-bank,  water- worn  stones  used  for  making 
the   picturesque    garden    and    courtyard   paths    the 
Chinese  love,  and  even  sometimes  for  building,  and 
of  osiers,  grown  up  in  the  mountains.     There  were 
piles  and  piles  of  these,  and  men  were  carrying  them 
slung  on  the  ends  of  their  bamboos.  And  the  boats, 
for  the  return  journey  were  loaded,  as  far  as  I  could 
see,  with  salt  and  the  thin  tissue  paper  they  use  every- 
where for  the  windows,  it  is  much  more  portable  than 
glass,  and  cotton  stuffs,  such  as  even  the  poorest  up 
in  the  mountains  must  buy  for  their  clothing.     And 
because  it  was  the  Dragon  Boat  Feast,  I  suppose, 
many  of  the  boats  were  full  of  passengers,  people 
who  had  started  thus  early  to  make  a  day  of  it, 
innumerable  small-footed  women  and  small,  shaven- 
headed  children,  what  little  there  was  left  of  their 
hair  done  up  in  tiny  plaits,  that  stood  straight  out 
on  end.     And  all  had  on  their  best  clothing.     Even 


346  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

the  gentleman  whose  picture  I  have  taken  standing 
under  a  tree  had  on  a   new  hat  of  the  brightest 
yellow  matting,  and  I  wondered  whether  the  poorer 
folk  who  thronged  the  river-side  in  Mesopotamia, 
so  many  long  centuries  ago,  were  not  something  like 
him.      The   only  thing  that  was   modern  was  the 
railway  station  and  rolling  stock,   just  behind  the 
river-side  town,  and  the  great  iron  bridge  that  spans 
the  river.     Modern  civilisation  come  to  Babylon.     It 
has  barely  touched  the  surface  though  of  this  age- 
old  civilisation.     The  people  who   came   crowding 
into   the  feast  came   in   carts   with   heavy   wooden 
wheels,  Punch's  prehistoric  wheels,  exactly  as  their 
ancestors  came,  possibly  three  thousand  years  ago, 
and  the  carts  were  drawn  by  mules,  by  oxen,  by 
donkeys,  and  were  covered,  some  with  the  ordinary 
blue  cloth,  some  with  grass  matting,  and  sometimes, 
when  they  were  open,  the  women  carried  umbrellas 
of  Chinese  oiled  paper,  with  here  and  there  one  of 
ordinary   European  pattern.     And  the   carts  were 
packed  very  close  together  indeed,  for  there  were 
numberless  women,  and  the  majority  of  them  could 
only  just  totter  along.     For  them  to  walk  far  or 
for  long,  would  be  a  sheer  impossibility.     Country 
people?     No,  again  I  saw  it  strongly,  these  were 
serfs,  perhaps,  but  not  country  people,  they  were  a 
highly   civilised  people,    far  more   highly   civilised 
than  I  am  who  sit  in  judgment,  so  civilised  that  they 
were  decadent,  effete,  and  every  woman  was  help- 
less! 

They  crowded  round  the  theatricals  that  were 
going  on  there  in  the  open,  and  all  the  stalls  were 
crowded  together  round  them  too.  These  sellers 
cannot  afford  to  spread  themselves  out  when  half  of 


A  MIXED  TEAM. 


A  WAYFARER. 


A   RIVER   PORT   IN    BABYLON    847 

the  likely  buyers  must  needs  be  stationary.  Never 
have  I  seen  so  many  Chinese  women  of  the  well-to- 
do  class  together  before.  They  wore  their  gayest 
silks  and  satins  and  embroidered  coats,  their  hair 
was  elaborately  dressed  and  decked  with  flowers, 
their  faces  were  painted  and  powdered,  and  usually 
there  was  on  them  the  faintest  of  impassive  smiles. 
Poor  women  of  modern  Babylon,  maimed  and 
crippled!  It  was  rather  a  relief  to  look  at  the 
beggars,  and  there  were  many  of  them,  who,  clad 
in  sacking  and  filthy  rags,  with  wild  black  hair,  beat 
their  foreheads  in  the  dust,  and  made  loud  moan  of 
their  sufferings.  Everyone  plays  his  part  properly 
in  China.  It  is  the  beggars'  to  make  loud  moan,  it 
is  the  women's  to  give  no  hint  of  the  cruel  suffering 
that  has  made  childhood  and  youth  a  torture,  and 
left  the  dreadful  aftermath  behind  it. 

I  had  plenty  of  time  to  see  everything,  for  the 
train  was  not  due  till  eleven,  and  when  it  grew  too 
hot  to  stay  in  the  open  any  longer,  I  went  on  to  the 
platform  and  sat  in  the  shade,  and  formed  a  sort  of 
side  show  to  the  fair,  for  so  many  people  crowded 
round  to  look  at  the  foreign  woman,  and  they  had 
more  than  what  a  servant  of  one  of  my  friends  called 
"a  littee  stink,"  that  at  last  the  station  policeman, 
who  was  really  a  soldier  guarding  the  line,  came  and 
cleared  them  away  drastically  with  drawn  sword,  and 
I  explained,  as  best  I  could,  that  on  this  great  occa- 
sion, I  hadn't  the  least  objection  to  being  a  show, 
for  very  likely  many  of  these  people  had  come  from 
beyond  the  beaten  tracks,  from  places  where 
foreigners  were  scarce,  but  I  must  have  sufficient 
air. 

Tuan  got  the  tickets,  and  then  I  suppose,  seeing 


348  A   WOMAN   IN    CHINA 

his  time  was  short,  for  we  should  be  in  Peking  by 
seven,  and  should  certainly  part,  he  relieved  his 
mind  and  asked  a  question  that  had  evidently  been 
burning  there  ever  since  we  had  left  the  mission 
station. 

"  Missie  have  pay  mission  boys  cumshaw." 

Now  the  cumshaw  had  been  a  difficulty. 

My  hostess  had  come  to  me  and  said :  "  I  know 
you  are  going  to  give  a  cumshaw.  I  may  as  well 
tell  you  that  if  our  visitors  don't  we  always  do  our- 
selves, because  the  servants  expect  it,  but  I  am  come 
to  beg  of  you  not  to  give  too  much  and  to  give  it 
through  us.  In  fact  the  cook  went  for  his  holiday 
last  night  and  we  gave  him  eighty  cents  and  said  it 
was  from  you." 

"Eighty  cents!"  I  was  afraid  those  servants 
would  think  me  very  mean.  But  my  hostess  was 
very  fluent  on  the  subject,  and  very  determined. 
The  majority  of  their  visitors  could  not  possibly 
afford  to  give  much,  and  they  were  very  anxious  not 
to  establish  a  precedent.  What  was  I  to  do?  I 
might  have  supplemented  it  through  Tuan,  but  I 
felt  it  would  be  making  a  poor  return  to  the  people 
who  had  been  so  kind  to  me,  so  I  was  obliged  to  let 
it  go  at  that. 

"  I  pay  Missie,  she  give  cumshaw  for  me,"  said  I 
to  Tuan. 

"Ah!"  said  that  worthy,  as  if  he  had  settled  a 
doubt  satisfactorily  in  his  own  mind,  "  boy  say 
Missie  pay  eighty  cent,  I  say,  not  my  Missie,  she 
give  five,  ten  dollar,  always  give  five,  ten  dollar,  your 
Missie  give  eighty  cent !  " 

And  as  I  went  on  my  way  to  Peking,  across  the 
plain  in  its  summer  dress  of  lush  green  kaoliang,  I 


A   RIVER    PORT    IN    BABYLON    349 

wondered  sorrowfully  if  all  the  return  I  had  made  for 
the  kindness  received  was  to  have  those  mission- 
aries accused  of  pocketing  the  cumshaw  I  was 
supposed  to  have  given. 

But  I  was  glad  to  come  back,  glad  not  to  think 
any  more  of  the  Chinaman  as  a  creature  whose  soul 
had  to  be  saved,  glad  to  come  back  to  my  ordinary 
associates  who  were  ordinarily  worldly  and  selfish, 
and  felt  that  they  might  drink  a  whisky-and-soda 
and  consider  their  own  enjoyment,  though  there  were 
a  few  hundred  million  people  in  outer  darkness 
around  them.  The  majority  of  us  cannot  live  in  the 
rarefied  atmosphere  ijiat  demands  constant  sacri- 
fice and  abnegation  for  the  sake  of  those  we  do  not 
and  cannot  love. 


CHAPTER    XX 

THE    WAYS    OF    THE    CHINESE    SERVANT 

The  heat  of  Peking — The  wall  by  moonlight — Tongshan — "  Your 
devoted  milkman  " — The  eye  of  the  mistress — A  little  fort — 
In  case  of  an  outbreak — The  Temple  of  the  Sleeping  Buddha — 
A  runaway  bride — The  San  Shan  An — My  own  temple  court- 
yard—The missing  outfit— The  Language  Officer— Friends  in 
need. 

IT  was  David,  I  think,  who  said  in  his  haste,  that  all 
men  are  liars,  but  I  suppose  he  was  right,  if  he  meant 
as  he  probably  did,  that  at  one  time  or  another,  we 
are  all  of  us  given  to  making  rash  statements.  I 
expect  it  would  be  a  rash  statement  to  say  that 
Peking  in  the  summer  is  the  hottest  place  in  the 
world,  and  that  the  heat  of  West  Africa,  that  much- 
maligned  land,  is  nothing  to  it,  and  yet,  even  when 
I  think  over  the  matter  at  my  leisure,  I  know  that 
the  heat,  for  about  six  weeks,  is  something  very 
hard  to  bear.  I  suspect  it  is  living  in  a  stone  house 
inside  the  city  walls  that  makes  it  so  hot.  Could  I 
have  slept  in  the  open  I  might  have  taken  a  different 
view.  I  slept,  or  rather  I  did  not  sleep,  with  two 
windows  wide  open,  and  an  electric  fan  going,  but, 
since  Peking  mosquitoes  are  of  the  very  aggressive 
order,  bred  in  the  imperial  canal,  the  great  open 
drain  that  runs  through  the  city,  it  was  always 
necessary  to  keep  the  mosquito  curtains  drawn.  If 
anyone  doubts  that  a  house  with  mosquito-proof 

350 


WAYS  OF  THE  CHINESE  SERVANT  851 

windows  and  doors  is  an  airless  death-trap,  let  him 
try  and  sleep  under  mosquito  curtains,  while  hoping 
for  a  breath  of  cool  air  from  the  electric  fan.  Fully 
half  the  air  is  cut  off,  but  as  the  mosquito  curtains 
are  raised  during  the  daytime,  the  air  over  the  bed 
is  renewed  daily.  In  that  abomination  a  mosquito- 
proof  house,  it  is  never  renewed. 

Since  it  was  a  choice  between  little  air  and  plenty 
of  mosquitoes.  I  chose  the  shortage  of  air,  and 
generally  went  to  bed  with  a  deep  soup  plate  full  of 
cold  water,  and  a  large  sponge.  It  made  the  bed 
decidedly  wet,  but  that  was  an  advantage. 

I  did  not  go  away  because  the  war  had  started 
between  the  North  and  the  South,  and  no  one  knew 
exactly  what  was  going  to  happen.  To  be  at  the 
heart  of  things  is  often  to  be  too  close,  wiser  eyes 
than  mine  saw  nothing.  Once  there  was  a  rumour 
that  the  Southern  army  would  march  on  Peking, 
and  that  promised  excitement,  but  in  the  city  itself, 
though  there  was  martial  law,  there  was  no  excite- 
ment, and  the  only  pleasant  thing  to  do  was  to  go 
on  moonlight  evenings  and  sit  on  the  wall.  There 
was  a  cool  breath  of  air  there,  if  there  was  anywhere, 
and  at  any  rate  the  moonlight  lent  it  a  glamour,  and 
the  fireflies,  that  came  out  after  the  rain,  gave  the 
added  touch  that  made  it  fairyland. 

But  at  last  the  heat  was  too  much  even  for  me,  who 
am  not  wont  to  complain  of  whatever  sort  of  weather 
is  doled  out  to  me,  and  I  accepted  the  invitation  of  a 
friend  to  stay  at  Tongshan,  which  is  a  great  railway 
centre,  a  place  where  there  is  a  coal  mine,  and  some 
large  cement  works  run  by  capable  and  efficient 
Germans. 

And  at  Tongshan  I  lived  in  the  house  that  was 


352  A   WOMAN   IN    CHINA 

held  for  defence  during  the  Boxer  trouble.  The 
barrier  at  the  gate — the  barrier  that  is  at  the  gate  of 
all  Chinese  houses,  to  keep  off  evil  spirits,  who  can 
only  move  in  a  straight  line — was  so  curious  that  I 
took  a  photograph  of  it,  and  against  the  walls  that 
surround  the  grounds  were  the  look-out  places  which 
the  railwaymen  manned,  and  from  which  they  kept 
watch  and  ward. 

I  have  always  liked  the  feeling  of  living  in  a  fort 
— a  place  where  men  have  helped  to  make  history, 
but  I  have  observed  that  it  is  always  the  immediate 
trifle  that  is  to  the  fore  that  counts,  and  my  friend's 
servants  were  a  perpetual  joy  and  delight  to  me. 
They  used  to  write  her  letters.  There  was  one,  a 
touching  one,  from  the  milkman  I  shall  remember 
with  joy.  A  "  cunningful  "  cook  had  misrepresented 
him,  and  he  wished  to  be  taken  into  favour  again, 
and  he  signed  himself  distractedly  "  Your  devoted 
milkman."  The  cow  was  brought  round  so  that  it 
might  be  milked  before  the  eyes  of  the  buyer,  and 
only  a  Chinaman,  surely,  would  have  been  capable 
of  concealing  a  bottle  of  water  up  his  sleeves  and 
letting  it  run  slowly  down  his  arm  as  he  milked,  so 
that  the  cow  was  unjustly  accused  of  giving  very 
poor  milk.  Besides,  when  the  cow's  character  was 
cleared,  who  knew  from  where  that  water  had  been 
taken,  and  how  much  dirt  it  had  washed  off  the  arm 
down  which  it  ran.  No  pleading  took  that  milkman 
into  favour  again,  despite  the  tenderness  expressed 
in  his  signature.  Another  man  had  been  away,  and 
returning,  wished  a  small  job  as  watchman  at  six 
dollars  a  month,  and  begging  for  it  by  letter,  he 
signed  himself  fervently  "  Your  own  Ah  Foo."  But 
the  crowning  boy  was  the  No.  i  boy.  He  was  a 


THE  FORT  IN  THE  COMPOUND  AT  TONGSHAN. 


ENTRANCE  TO  HOUSE,  TONGSHAN. 


WAYS  OF  THE  CHINESE  SERVANT    353 

delicious  person  without  intending  it.  When  first 
my  friend  engaged  him,  she  acquired  at  the  same 
time  a  small  dog,  and  she  soon  realised  that  the 
rigorous  Chinese  winter  was  hard  on  dogs,  and  that 
Ben  must  have  a  little  coat.  The  question  was  how 
to  make  the  coat.  No.  i  boy  came  to  the  rescue. 

Mr  at   the   railway   station  had    a  dog,   and 

"Marcus,"  said  the  boy,  "have  two  coats." 

"  Oh  we'll  borrow  one  and  copy  it,"  said  his 
mistress,  relieved. 

"My  tink,"  said  the  boy  confidentially,  and  he 
sank  his  voice,  "  Missie  bolly,  more  better  not  send 
back."  And  he  looked  at  her  to  see  if  this  wisdom 
would  sink  in. 

"Boy!" 

"  Marcus  have  two  coats,"  repeated  he  reproach- 
fully. 

The  owner  of  Marcus,  on  the  story  being  told 
to  him,  when  the  coat  was  borrowed  with  every 
assurance  it  should  be  returned,  admitted  that  if 
occasionally  he  saw  among  his  accounts  a  coat  for 
Marcus  he  always  paid  for  it,  and  supposed  the  old 
one  had  worn  out.  Thinking  it  over,  he  thought 
perhaps  he  had  supplied  a  friend  or  two,  or  more 
possibly  his  friends'  servants.  No.  i  boy  made  a 
mistake  in  taking  his  mistress  into  his  confidence, 
instead  of  charging  her  for  "  one  piecey  dog  coat." 

But,  of  course  that  is  the  trouble  with  Missies,  as 
compared  with  Masters,  they  have  such  inquiring 
minds.  There  was  once  a  man  of  violent  temper 
who  was  in  the  habit  of  letting  off  steam  on  his 
No.  i  boy.  He  abused  him  roundly,  and  even  beat 
him  whenever  he  felt  out  of  sorts,  yet  greatly  to  the 
surprise  of  all  his  friends,  the  boy  put  up  with  him, 

z 


854  A   WOMAN   IN    CHINA 

and  made  him  a  very  excellent  servant.  Presently 
he  married,  and  then,  much  to  his  surprise,  before 
a  month  was  out  the  boy,  who  had  been  faithful  and 
long-suffering  for  so  long,  came  and  gave  notice. 

"But  why?"  asked  the  astonished  man. 

"  Master  beat,"  said  the  boy  laconically. 

"  D n  it,"  said  the  man,  "  I've  beaten  you  a 

dozen  times  before.  Why  do  you  complain  now?*' 

"  Before  time,"  explained  the  boy  solemnly, 
"  when  Master  beat,  my  put  down  one  dollar,  sugar, 
one  dollar  flour.  Now  Missie  come,  no  can.  My 
go." 

He  did  not  mind  a  beating  so  long  as  he  could 
make  his  master  pay  for  it,  but  when  an  inquiring 
mistress  questioned  these  little  items  for  groceries 
that  she  knew  had  never  been  used,  he  gave  up  the 
place,  he  could  no  longer  get  even  with  his  master. 
It  was  a  truly  Chinese  way  of  looking  at  things. 

These  were  some  of  the  stories  they  told  me  in  the 
house  they  had  fortified  against  the  Boxers  and  held 
till  the  ships  sent  them  a  guard.  And  once  the 
sailors  came  there  was  no  more  danger.  It  was  the 
luckless  country  people  who  feared.  The  older  men 
pitied  and  understood  the  situation,  but  the  mis- 
chievous young  midshipmen  took  a  fearful  joy  in 
scaring  the  problematical  enemy. 

"Who  goes  there?" 

"  Belong  my,"  answered  the  shivering  coolie, 
endeavouring  to  slip  past,  and  in  deadly  terror  that 
the  pointed  rifle  would  go  off,  They  were  ground 
between  two  millstones  those  unfortunate  peasants. 
The  Boxers  harried  them,  and  then  the  foreigners 
came  and  avenged  their  wrongs  on  these  who  had 
done  probably  no  harm.  Always  it  is  these  helpless 


WAYS  OF  THE  CHINESE  SERVANT    855 

serfs  who  suffer  in  case  of  war.  Other  classes  may 
suffer — these  are  sure  to. 

They  will  never  hold  this  house  again  should 
necessity  arise,  for  the  well  that  gave  them  water  has 
gone  dry. 

Of  course  everyone  hopes  and  says,  that  the 
necessity  never  will  arise  again  but  for  all  that, 
they  are  not,  the  foreign  settlers  in  China,  quite  as 
certain  of  their  safety  as  one  would  be  in  a  country 
town  in  England,  for  instance.  They  came  in  to 
afternoon  tea  and  tennis,  men  and  women,  and  they 
gave  all  attention  to  the  amusement  in  hand,  a  light- 
hearted,  cheerful  set  of  people,  and  then  one  little 
speech  and  one  saw  there  was  another  side.  There 
was  always  the  might  be.  Everything  was  going  on 
as  usual,  everywhere  around  were  peaceable,  sub- 
servient people,  and  yet — and  yet  terrible  things  had 
happened  in  the  past,  who  could  say  if  they  would 
not  happen  again.  Every  now  and  again,  not  domi- 
nating the  conversation,  but  running  a  subcurrent 
to  it,  would  come  up  the  topic  of  the  preparations 
they  had  made  in  case  of  "  another  outbreak." 

One  woman  kept  a  box  of  clothes  at  Tientsin. 

"  I  wonder  you  don't,"  she  said  looking  at  her 
hostess.  "  No,  my  dear,  don't  you  remember  yet,  I 
never  take  sugar.  Thank  you.  You  ought  to 
think  about  it,  you  know.  It  is  really  so  awkward  if 
one  has  to  rush  away  in  a  hurry  to  find  oneself  with- 
out clothes." 

Another  woman  laughed,  and  yet  she  was  very 
much  in  earnest. 

'f  That's  not  the  first  thing  to  worry  about.  There, 
that  was  vantage  to  them,"  she  interpolated,  taking 
an  interest  in  the  game  of  tennis,  "  that  young 


356  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

woman's  going  to  make  a  nice  little  player.  No, 
what  I  think  is  that  the  place  they  have  chosen  to 
hold  is  far  too  far  away.  Want  your  clothes  in 
Tientsin?  I'm  not  at  all  sure  you'll  get  over  that 
mile  and  a  half  from  your  house  in  safety,  and  I've 
farther  still  to  go,  with  two  little  children  too.  Why 

don't   you    get    your    husband   to Oh    there 

they've  finished !    Now  have  I  time  for  another  set?  " 

"  It's  after  six." 

"  Good  gracious !  And  baby  to  bath !  I  must  go. 
You  speak  to  your  husband  about  another  place,  my 
dear.  He'll  have  some  influence." 

"No,  I  wouldn't  try  to  hold  any  place  again,"  said 
my  host,  thinking  of  the  past,  "  I  should  be  on  the 
train  and  off  to  Tientsin  at  the  first  hint  of  danger." 

"  But  suppose  you  couldn't  get  away  in  time  ? " 

"  Well,  of  course,  that's  possible,"  he  said 
thoughtfully,  "  and  the  Chinese  are  beggars  at 
pulling  up  railways." 

I  listened,  and  then  I  understood  how  people  get 
used  to  contemplating  a  danger  that  is  only  possible, 
and  not  actually  impending. 

"  If  anything  happens  to  Yuan  Shih  K'ai,"  but 
then,  of  course,  though  that  is  not  only  a  possible, 
but  even  a  probable  danger,  everyone  hopes  that 
nothing  will  happen  to  Yuan  Shih  K'ai,  just  as  if 
anything  did  happen  to  him,  they  would  hope  things 
would  not  be  as  bad  as  they  had  feared,  and  if  their 
worst  fears  were  realised,  then  they  would  hope  that 
they  would  be  the  lucky  ones  who  would  not  be 
overwhelmed.  This  is  human  nature,  at  least  one 
side  of  human  nature,  the  side  of  human  nature  that 
has  made  of  the  British  a  great  colonising  people. 

The   autumn  was  coming,  the  golden,   glowing 


WAYS  OF  THE  CHINESE  SERVANT    357 

autumn  of  Northern  China,  so,  coming  back  to 
Peking,  I  determined  to  find  out  some  place  where 
I  could  enjoy  its  beauties  and  write  the  book  which 
my  publisher  expected.  Most  people  seem  to  think 
that  the  writing  of  a  book  is  a  mere  question  of  plenty 
of  time,  a  good  pen,  paper,  and  ink.  '  You  press 
the  button,  we  do  the  rest,"  promises  a  certain  firm 
that  makes  cameras ;  but  I  do  not  find  either  writing 
or  taking  photographs  quite  so  simple  a  matter  as  all 
that.  To  do  either,  even  as  well  as  I  can,  I  want  to 
be  by  myself,  for  I  am  a  sociable  being,  I  do  love  the 
society  of  my  kind,  to  talk  to  them,  to  exchange  ideas 
with  them,  and  when  I  am  doing  that,  I  cannot  give 
the  time  and  attention  it  requires  to  writing.  Every- 
one who  writes  in  China,  and  anyone  who  writes  at 
all  is  moved  to  take  pen  in  hand  to  try  and  elucidate 
its  mysteries,  wants  to  write  in  a  temple  in  the 
Western  Hills.  I  was  no  exception  to  the  rule. 
The  Western  Hills,  whose  rugged  outlines  you  can 
see  from  Peking,  called  me,  and  I  set  out  to  look 
for  a  temple.  It  was  going  to  be  easy  enough  to  get 
one,  for  "  Legation  "  Peking  goes  to  the  hills  in  the 
summer,  and  when  autumn  holds  the  land  goes  back 
to  the  joys  of  city  life. 

The  first  I  inspected  was  the  Temple  of  the 
Sleeping  Buddha,  a  temple  which  has  many  court- 
yards, and  a  figure  of  the  Buddha,  peacefully  sleep- 
ing. An  emblem  of  peace  looks  the  great  bronze 
figure.  He  is,  of  course,  represented  clothed,  only 
his  feet  are  bare,  and  the  faithful  bring  him  offerings 
of  shoes,  rows  and  rows  of  shoes  there  were  on  a 
shelf  at  the  side  of  the  temple,  some  colossal,  three 
or  four  feet  long,  and  some  tiny,  some  made  after 
the  fashion  of  the  ordinary  Chinese  shoe,  of  silk  or 


858  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

quilted  satin,  but  some  make-believe,  and  very 
excellent  make-believe,  of  paper.  Looking  at  them 
I  could  not  have  told  the  difference,  and  as  the 
Buddha's  eyes  are  shut,  he  could  not  even  go  as  far 
as  that.  He  certainly  could  not  put  them  on,  for  his 
feet  are  pressed  closely  together,  the  feet  of  a  pro- 
foundly sleeping  man.  All  is  peace  here.  Here 
there  is  no  trouble,  no  anxiety,  that  sleeping  figure 
seems  to  say. 

But  there  was  for  all  that.  Where  in  the  world  is 
there  no  trouble  ? 

It  takes  about  three  and  a  half  hours  to  reach  the 
Sleeping  Buddha  Temple  from  Peking.  First  I  took 
a  rickshaw  across  the  city.  Then  from  the  north- 
west gate,  the  Hsi  Chih  Men,  still  by  rickshaw,  I 
went  to  the  Summer  Palace,  and  I  did  the  remaining 
five  miles  into  the  heart  of  the  hills  on  a  donkey.  I 
don't  like  riding  a  donkey,  five  miles  on  a  donkey 
on  an  uncomfortable  Chinese  saddle,  riding  astride, 
wearies  me  to  death,  and  when  I  was  just  thinking 
life  was  no  longer  worth  living  I  arrived,  and 
wandered  into  a  courtyard  where,  at  the  head  of 
some  steps,  stood  a  little  Chinese  girl.  She  was 
dressed  in  the  usual  dress  of  a  girl  of  the  better 
classes,  a  coat  and  trousers,  like  a  man  usually  wears 
with  us,  only  the  coat  had  a  high  collar  standing  up 
against  her  cheeks,  and  because  she  was  unmarried, 
she  wore  her  hair  simply  drawn  back  from  her  face 
and  plaited  in  a  long  tail  down  her  back,  much  as  an 
English  schoolgirl  wears  it.  She  made  me  a  pretty, 
shy  salutation,  and  called  to  her  friend  the  English- 
woman, who  had  rented  the  courtyard,  and  who  was 
living  here  while  she  painted  pictures.  This  lady 
was  returning  to  Peking  she  said,  next  day,  but  she 


PLACE   OF   TOMBS    BELOW    SAN    SHAN   AN. 


VALLEY   OF   THE    SAN    SHAN   AN. 


WAYS  OF  THE  CHINESE  SERVANT    359 

very  kindly  invited  me  to  luncheon,  and  she  told  me 
the  Chinese  girl's  story.  She  was  practically  in 
hiding.  She  had  been  betrothed,  of  course,  years 
before  to  some  boy  she  had  never  seen,  and  this 
year  the  time  had  arrived  for  the  carrying  out  of 
the  contract.  But  young  China  is  beginning  to  think 
it  has  rights  and  objects  to  being  disposed  of  in 
marriage  without  even  a  chance  to  protest.  It 
would  not  be  much  good  the  boy  running  away, 
however  much  he  objected  to  the  matrimonial  plans 
his  family  had  made  for  him,  for  he  could  be  married 
quite  easily  in  his  absence,  a  cock  taking  his  place ; 
but  it  beats  even  the  Chinese  to  have  a  marriage 
without  a  bride,  therefore  the  girl  had  run  away.  The 
time  was  past  and  the  contract  had  not  been  carried 
out.  Poor  little  girl !  It  surprised  me  that  so  shy  and 
quiet  a  little  girl  had  found  courage  to  defy  authority 
and  run  away,  even  though  she  had  found  out  that 
her  betrothed  was  as  averse  from  the  marriage  as  she 
was.  She  had  unbound  her  feet,  as  if  to  signalise 
her  freedom ;  but  alas,  the  arch  of  her  foot  was 
broken,  and  she  could  never  hope  to  be  anything 
but  flat-footed,  still  that  was  better  than  walking 
with  stiff  knees,  on  her  heels,  as  if  her  legs  were  a 
couple  of  wooden  pegs  like  the  majority  of  her 
fellow-countrywomen.  The  woman  who  was 
befriending  her  suggested,  as  I  was  taking  a  temple 
in  the  hills,  I  should  give  her  sanctuary.  That  was 
all  very  well,  but  the  care  of  a  helpless  being,  like  a 
Chinese  girl,  is  rather  an  undertaking.  I  consulted 
a  friend  who  had  been  in  China  many  years,  and  he 
was  emphatic  on  the  subject. 

"No,  no,  no.     Never  have  anything  to  do  with  a 
woman  in  China  until  she  is  well  over  forty.     You 


360  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

don't  know  the  trouble  you  will  let  yourself  in  for. 
Chinese  women !  "  And  he  held  up  his  hands.  So 
it  appears  that  the  secluded  life  does  not  make  them 
all  that  they  ought  to  be. 

However,  while  I  was  considering  the  matter, 
some  woman  in  Peking,  kinder  and  less  cautious 
than  I,  stepped  in  and  the  little  girl  has  found  an 
asylum,  and  is,  I  am  assured  by  a  friend,  all  right, 
and  better  off  than  hundreds  of  her  people.  True 
she  easily  might  be  that,  and  yet  not  have  attained 
to  much. 

I  always  seem  to  be  talking  of  the  condition  of  the 
Chinese  women,  like  King  Charles's  head,  it  comes 
into  everything.  After  all,  the  condition  and  status 
of  half  the  nation  must  be  always  cropping  up  when 
one  considers  the  people  at  all.  "Chinese  women," 
said  a  man,  "  are  past-mistresses  in  false  modesty." 
And  again  I  thought  what  a  commentary  on  a  nation. 
To  Western  eyes  how  it  marks  the  subjection  and 
the  ignorance  of  the  women. 

When  the  first  baby  is  coming,  the  bride  is  sup- 
posed, though  it  would  be  a  tragedy  beyond  all 
words  if  she  had  no  children,  to  be  too  shy  to  tell 
her  husband,  or  even  her  mother-in-law,  so  she  puts 
on  bracelets,  and  then  the  family  know  that  this 
woman,  at  least,  is  about  to  fulfil  her  destiny.  I 
hope  the  little  Chinese  girl  I  found  up  in  the  Temple 
of  the  Sleeping  Buddha  will  yet  marry,  marry  some- 
one she  chooses  herself,  will  not  need  to  pluck  out 
the  front  hairs  on  her  forehead,  and  will  be  on  such 
terms  with  her  husband,  that  though  she  may  with 
pride  put  on  the  bracelets,  she  may  rejoice  openly 
that  their  love  is  crowned.  I  do  not  think  there  will 
be  any  false  modesty  about  her. 


WAYS  OF  THE  CHINESE  SERVANT    361 

But  I  did  not  take  a  courtyard  in  the  Sleeping 
Buddha  Temple.  It  was  rented  by  the  Y.M.C.A. 
and  I  think  that,  combined  with  the  donkey  ride, 
put  me  off.  I  felt  I  would  rather  go  farther  afield, 
farther  away  from  the  traces  of  the  foreigner,  and  I 
could  have  my  pick  of  temples  in  September.  I 
took  the  San  Shan  An,  in  another  valley,  one  of  the 
lovely  valleys  of  the  world. 

The  San  Shan  An  is  only  a  small  temple  with  a 
central  courtyard  and  two  or  three  smaller  ones, 
and  I  agreed  to  take  it  for  the  sum  of  twenty-eight 
dollars  a  month.  I  engaged  a  cook  and  a  boy,  the 
boy's  English  was  scanty  and  the  cook  had  none, 
but  I  only  paid  the  two  twenty-four  dollars  a  month, 
six  dollars  less  than  the  valued  Tuan  had  all  to 
himself,  and  one  day  in  September  I  saw  my  house- 
hold gods  on  to  two  carts,  went  myself  by  train,  and 
got  out  at  the  first  station  at  the  Western  Hills. 

I  had  taken  the  precaution,  as  I  had  no  Chinese, 
and  I  did  not  expect  to  meet  anybody  who  under- 
stood English,  to  have  the  name  of  the  temple  written 
out  in  Chinese  characters,  and  descending  from  the 
train,  after  a  little  trouble  I  found  one  among  the 
wondering  crowd  who  could  read,  and  all  that  crowd, 
a  dirty  little  crowd,  took  an  interest  in  my  further 
movements.  They  immediately  supplied  me  with 
donkeys  and  boys  to  choose  from,  and  I  had  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  explaining  that  I  did  not  want 
a  donkey,  all  I  wanted  was  a  guide.  The  only  one 
who  seemed  to  grasp  it  was  a  very  ragged  indjvidual 
who,  with  basket  under  his  arm,  and  scoop  in  hand, 
was  gathering  manure.  He  promptly  seized  my 
dispatch-box,  all  the  luggage  I  carried,  and  we 
started,  pursued  by  disappointed  boys  with  donkeys, 


862  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

who  could  not  believe  that  the  foreign  woman  was 
actually  going  to  walk  in  the  wake  of  a  man  who 
gathered  manure.  I  must  confess  it  was  a  most 
humble  procession,  even  in  my  eyes,  who  am  not 
accustomed  to  standing  on  my  dignity.  My  only 
sister  had  given  me  that  dispatch-case  as  a  parting 
present,  and  it  looked  wonderfully  rich  and  cultured 
in  the  very  grimy  hand  that  grasped  it  so  trium- 
phantly. I  should  never  have  had  the  heart  to  turn 
that  old  man  away,  he  looked  so  pleased  at  having 
got  a  job.  Off  he  went,  and  we  walked  for  over 
an  hour  across  a  flat  and  rough  country,  where  the 
kaoliang  had  been  gathered  on  to  the  threshing 
floors,  and  all  the  people  this  gorgeous  hot  autumn 
day  were  at  work  there. 

A  threshing  floor  in  the  East  makes  one  think  of 
Ruth  and  Boaz,  and  possibly  these  people  were  not 
unlike  those  who  worked  on  that  threshing  floor  in 
Judah  so  long  ago,  only  they  were  dirty  and  poor, 
and  not  comely  as  we  picture  the  Moabitish  beauty. 
It  was  hot  as  we  walked,  and  I  grew  a  little  doubtful 
as  we  approached  the  hills — were  we  going  in  the 
right  direction. 

"  San  Shan  Erh,"  said  my  guide,  and  he  repeated 
it,  and  I  grew  more  doubtful,  for  I  did  not  know 
then  that  these  hill  people  say,  "vSan  Shan  Erh" 
where  a  more  cultivated  man  would  say  "  San  Shan 
An/'  it  is  very  Pekingese  to  have  many  "  r's  "  to  roll. 
He  combined  business  with  pleasure,  or  rather  he 
combined  his  business,  and  whenever  he  came  across 
a  patch  of  manure,  he  gathered  it  in,  and  I  waited 
patiently.  At  last  we  came  to  the  entrance  of  a 
well-wooded  valley,  and  a  well-wooded  valley  is  a 
precious  thing  in  China,  and  we  went  up  a  roughly 


VIEW   FROM   TEMPLE. 


PLACE   OF   TOMBS    BELOW   THE   LOOK-OUT   PLACi 


WAYS  OF  THE  CHINESE  SERVANT    863 

flagged  pathway,  flagged,  I  dare  say,  a  couple  of 
hundred  years  ago  or  more,  a  steep  pathway  by  a 
graveyard,  and  between  the  trees  that  were  just 
taking  on  a  tinge  of  autumn  gold,  we  arrived  at  a 
plateau  built  up  with  stones,  and  along  beneath  some 
trees  we  entered  a  gate  and  came  into  a  square  brick 
paved  courtyard  surrounded  by  low,  one-storied 
buildings,  and  with  four  pine-trees  raising  their  dark 
green  branches  against  the  deep  blue  sky.  I  had 
seen  so  many  temple  courtyards,  and  now  here  was 
one,  that  for  a  space,  was  to  be  my  very  own.  In 
China,  it  seems,  the  gods  always  make  preparation 
for  taking  in  guests — at  a  price. 

But  was  this  my  temple? 

My  heart  sank,  as  for  a  moment  I  realised  what 
a  foolish  thing  I  had  done.  I  had  supposed,  after 
my  usual  fashion,  that  everything  would  go  smoothly 
for  me,  and  now  at  the  very  outset,  things  were 
going  wrong,  and  I  knew  I  was  helpless.  Two  men 
in  blue,  of  the  coolie  class,  old,  and  very,  very  dirty, 
looked  at  me,  and  talked  unintelligibly  to  my  guide, 
and  he,  very  intelligibly,  demanded  his  cumshaw, 
but  there  was  no  sign  of  my  possessions. 

For  the  moment  I  feared,  feared  greatly.  I  was 
entirely  alone,  what  might  not  happen  to  me?  I 
might  not  even  have  been  brought  to  the  right 
temple,  for  all  I  knew.  In  bridge,  when  doubtful 
they  say  play  to  win,  so  I  decided  I  must  act  as  if 
everything  was  all  right,  and  I  paid  my  guide  his 
cumshaw,  saw  him  go,  and  not  quite  as  happy 
as  I  should  have  liked  to  have  been,  inspected  the 
temple.  There  was  one  big  room  that  I  decided 
would  do  me  for  a  living-room,  if  this  were  really 
my  temple,  as  it  had  a  sort  of  little  veranda  or 


864  A   WOMAN   IN    CHINA 

look-out  place,  which  stood  out  on  the  cliff  side  over- 
looking the  place  of  tombs,  and  the  plain  where  in 
the  distance,  about  twelve  miles  as  the  crow  flies, 
I  could  see  in  the  clear  atmosphere  the  walls  of 
Peking.  They  might  as  well  have  been  a  hundred, 
I  thought  ruefully,  for  all  the  help  I  was  likely  to  get 
from  that  city  to-night,  if  this  were  not  really  my 
temple. 

A  Chinese  temple  is  sparsely  furnished.  All  the 
rooms  had  stone  floors,  all  of  them  opened  into  the 
courtyard  and  not  into  one  another,  and  for  all 
furniture  there  were  the  usual  k'angs,  two  cupboards, 
three  tables,  and  three  uncomfortable  Chinese  chairs. 
I  had  hired  an  easy  chair,  a  lamp,  and  with  my  camp 
outfit  I  expected  to  manage.  But  where  was  my 
camp  outfit? 

I  could  not  understand  a  word  of  what  the  people 
said,  but  they  seemed  friendly,  they  well  might  be,  I 
thought,  I  was  entirely  at  their  mercy,  and  a  very 
dirty  old  gentleman  with  claw-like  hands,  an  un- 
shaven head,  and  the  minutest  of  queues  came  and 
contemplated  me  in  a  way  which  was  decidedly  dis- 
concerting. I  went  and  looked  at  the  gods,  dusty 
and  dirty  too  in  their  sanctuaries.  There  was  a  most 
musical  bell  alongside  one  of  them  and  when  I  struck 
it,  the  clang  seemed  to  emphasise  my  loneliness  and 
helplessness.  Could  this  be  the  right  temple?  If 
it  was  not  where  was  I  to  go  ?  There  was  no  means 
of  getting  back  to  Peking,  short  of  walking,  even 
then  the  gates  must  be  shut  long  before  I  arrived. 
As  far  as  I  knew,  there  was  no  foreigner  left  in  the 
hills.  I  went  on  to  the  look-out  place,  and  looked 
out  over  the  plain,  and  the  old  man  came  and  looked 
at  me,  and  I  grew  more  and  more  uncomfortable. 


WAYS  OF  THE  CHINESE  SERVANT    865 

Tiffin  time  was  long  past,  afternoon  tea  time  came 
and  went.  It  had  been  warm  enough  in  the  middle 
of  the  day,  but  the  evenings  grow  chill  towards  the 
end  of  September,  and  I  had  only  a  white  muslin 
gown  on.  At  the  very  best  the  prospect  of  sleeping 
on  one  of  those  cold  and  stony  k'angs  did  not  look 
inviting.  I  could  have  cried  as  the  shadows  grew 
long  and  the  sun  set. 

And  then,  oh  joy,  down  beneath  me,  out  on  the 
hill-side,  I  heard  a  voice,  an  unmistakable  American 
voice.  I  had  been  terrified,  and  like  a  flash  my 
terrors  rolled  away.  I  looked  over  and  there  were 
a  man  and  a  woman  taking  an  evening  stroll,  very 
much  at  home,  for  neither  of  them  had  on  a  hat. 
I  forgot  in  a  moment  I  had  been  afraid  and  I  hailed 
them  at  once. 

"Is  this  the  San  Shan  An?" 

"  Sure,"  said  the  man  as  they  looked  up  in 
surprise. 

Well,  that  was  a  relief  anyhow,  and  I  thought  how 
foolish  I  had  been  to  be  afraid.  But  where  were  the 
carts  ? 

The  stranger  said  they  ought  to  have  arrived  hours 
ago,  and  then  they  bid  me  good-bye,  and  I  waited 
once  more.  I  was  uncomfortable  now — I  was  no 
longer  afraid.  At  least  not  till  it  grew  dark,  and 
then,  I  must  confess,  the  place  seemed  to  me 
strangely  eerie.  The  sun  was  set,  the  moon  was  old, 
and  not  due  till  the  morning,  the  faint  wind  moaned 
through  the  pine-branches,  and  the  darkness  was  full 
of  all  sorts  of  strange,  mysterious,  unexplainable 
sounds.  It  was  cold,  cold,  and  the  morning  and  the 
light  were  a  good  eleven  hours  off. 

Then  just  as  I  was  in  the  depths  of  despair,  there 


866  A   WOMAN    IN    CHINA 

was  a  commotion  in  the  courtyard,  a  lantern  flashed 
on  the  trunks  of  the  pine-trees,  and  a  kindly 
American  voice  out  of  the  darkness  said : 

"  I  thought  I  had  better  come  down  and  see  if 
your  outfit  had  turned  up." 

"  There  is  not  a  sign  of  it."  I  wonder  if  there 
was  relief  in  my  voice. 

"  No,  so  the  people  here  tell  me,  and  they  are  in 
rather  a  way  about  you." 

So  that  was  why  the  dirty  old  gentleman  had 
apparently  been  stalking  me.  It  had  never  occurred 
to  me  that  these  people  could  be  troubled  about  me, 
this  was  a  new  and  kindly  light  on  Chinese  character. 

"  Perhaps  you'll  come  along  with  me,"  went  on  my 
new  friend.  "  I've  got  two  ladies  staying  with  me 
from  Tientsin,  and  they'll  do  the  best  they  can  for 
you  for  the  night." 

Bless  him,  bless  him,  I  could  have  hugged  him. 
Go,  of  course  I  went  thankfully,  and  with  his 
lantern,  he  guided  me  over  the  steepest  and  roughest 
of  mountain  paths  till  we  came  to  his  temple,  a  much 
bigger  one  than  mine. 

"  I  thought  there  was  no  one  left  in  the  hills,"  I 
said  as  we  went  along. 

"  I'm  going  next  week,"  he  said,  "  but  I  love  this 
valley.  There  is  only  one  lovelier  in  the  world — the 
one  I  was  born  in." 

"And  where  is  that?" 

'  The  Delaware  Valley.  These  people,"  he  went 
on,  "  are  mightily  relieved  to  hear  I  am  going  to  keep 
you  for  the  night." 

Again  I  thanked  him,  and  indeed  he  and  his 
friends  were  friends  in  need.  "  And  I  cannot  make 
them  understand  like  you  do,"  I  said  a  little  futilely. 


WAYS  OF  THE  CHINESE  SERVANT    867 

"Well,  I  ought  to,"  he  laughed.  "I'm  the 
Language  Officer." 

He  decided  my  carts  had  had  time  to  come  from 
Peking  and  go  back  again,  and  they  must  have  gone 
up  the  wrong  valley,  and  he  and  his  friends  took  me 
in  and  fed  me>  and  comforted  me,  so  that  I  was  ready 
to  laugh  at  my  woes,  and  then,  just  as  we  were 
finishing  an  excellent  dinner,  there  appeared  on  the 
terrace,  where  we  were  dining,  an  agitated  individual 
with  a  guttering  candle,  my  boy,  whom  I  hardly 
knew  by  sight  yet. 

He  told  a  tale  of  woe  and  suffering.  According 
to  him,  the  road  to  Jehol  must  have  been  nothing  to 
that  road  from  Peking  to  the  Western  Hills,  and  I 
and  my  new  friends  went  down  to  inspect  what  was 
left  of  my  outfit.  There  wasn't  much  in  it  that  was 
smashable,  and  beyond  salad  oil  in  the  bread  and 
kerosene  in  the  salt,  there  was  not  much  damage 
done.  I  could  not  understand  though  how  they 
had  come  to  grief  at  all,  for  the  loads  were  certainly 
light  for  two  carts,  and  once  in  the  hills,  of  c  urse, 
the  goods  were  carried  by  men.  And  then  the  truth 
dawned  on  me.  It  was  the  way  of  a  Chinese  servant 
all  over.  I  had  been  foolish  enough  to  give  my  boy 
the  five  dollars  to  pay  for  the  two  carts.  He  had 
made  one  do,  and  pocketed  two  dollars  fifty  cents. 
I  asked  him  if  such  were  not  the  case. 

"  Yes,  sah,"  said  he,  and  I  wondered,  till  I  found 
that  he  always  said  "  Yes,  sah,"  whether  he  under- 
stood me  or  not.  More  often  than  not  he  did  not 
understand,  but  that  "  sah  "  made  me  understand  he 
had  learned  his  little  English  from  a  countryman  of 
my  friend,  the  Language  Officer. 

And  after  all   I   think   I   was   glad   of  the  little 


368  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

adventure.  I  had  not  realised  how  eerie  a  temple 
would  be  all  by  myself  at  night,  and  it  was  good  to 
think  that  for  a  night  or  two  at  least  there  would  be 
people  of  my  own  colour  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
of  me  on  the  hill-side. 


COURTYARD  OF   THE   TEMPLE. 


TIFFIN   AT   THE    SAN   SHAN   AN. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

FROM    THE    SAN    SHAN    AN 

An  old  temple — Haunted — Wolf  with  green  eyes — Loneliness 
— Death  of  missionaries — Fear — Sanctuaries — "  James 
Buchanan  " — Valiant  farmers — Autumn  tints — Famous 
priest — Sacrifice  of  disciples — Tree  conserving — Camels  at  my 
gate — Servants — "  Cook  book  " — Enchanted  hills — Cricket 
cages — Kindly  people — The  fall  of  Belshazzar — Hope  for  the 
future. 

AND  with  two  servants  and  the  temple  coolies  to  wait 
upon  me  I  settled  down  in  the  San  Shan  An,  the 
Temple  of  the  Three  Mountains,  the  oldest  temple  in 
this  valley  of  temples,  built  long  ago  in  the  Sung 
Dynasty.  They  said  it  was  haunted,  haunted  by  the 
ghost  of  a  big  snake,  and  when  the  mud  from  the 
roof  fell  as  so  much  dust  on  the  stone  floor,  and  over 
me,  my  tables  and  chairs  and  bed,  my  boy  stretched 
out  his  arms  and  explained  that  the  snake  had  done 
it.  The  snake,  I  found,  always  accounted  for  dust. 
When  my  jam  and  butter  disappeared,  and  I  sus- 
pected human  agency,  he  said  in  his  pidgin-English, 

"  I  tink — I  tink "  and  then  words  failed  him,  and 

he  broke  out  into  spelling,  "  I  tink  it  R — A — T." 
Why  he  could  spell  that  word  and  not  pronounce  it 
I  do  not  know,  but  until  I  left  I  did  not  know  that 
the  snake  that  lived  in  my  roof  was  supernatural.  I 
don't  think  even  I  could  be  afraid  of  the  ghost  of 
a  snake.  The  temple  up  above,  the  Language 

369  2A 


870  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

Officer's  temple,  was  haunted  by  a  wolf  with  green 
eyes,  and  that  would  have  been  a  different  matter. 
I  am  glad  I  did  not  dare  the  wolf  with  green  eyes. 
For  I  was  all  by  myself.  The  Language  Officer, 
the  Good  Samaritan,  went  back  to  Peking,  and, 
except  at  week-ends,  when  I  persuaded  a  friend  or 
two  to  dissipate  my  loneliness,  I  was  the  only 
foreigner  in  the  valley.  Go  back  to  Peking  until  the 
work  I  had  set  myself  to  do  was  done,  I  determined 
I  would  not.  It  has  been  a  curious  and  lonely 
existence  away  in  the  hills,  in  the  little  temple 
embosomed  in  trees,  among  a  people  who  speak  not 
a  word  of  my  language ;  but  it  had  its  charm.  I  had 
my  camp-bed  set  up  on  the  little  platform  looking 
out  over  the  place  of  tombs,  with  the  great  Peking 
plain  beyond,  and  there,  while  the  weather  was 
warm,  I  had  all  my  meals,  and  there,  warm  or  cold, 
I  always  slept.  When  the  evening  shadows  fell  I 
was  lonely,  I  was  worse  than  lonely,  all  that  I  had 
missed  in  life  came  crowding  before  my  eyes,  all  the 
years  seemed  empty,  wasted,  all  the  future  hopeless, 
and  I  went  to  bed  and  tried  to  sleep,  if  only  to 
forget. 

And  China  is  not  a  good  place  in  which  to  try 
the  lonely  life.  There  are  too  many  tragic  histories 
associated  with  it,  and  one  is  apt  to  remember  them 
at  the  wrong  times.  Was  I  afraid  at  night?  I  was, 
I  think,  a  little,  but  then  I  am  so  often  afraid,  and  so 
often  my  fears  are  false,  that  I  have  learned  not  to 
pay  much  attention  to  them.  I  knew  very  well  that 
the  Legations  would  not  have  allowed  me,  without 
a  word  of  warning,  to  take  a  temple  in  the  hills,  had 
there  been  any  likelihood  of  danger,  but  still,  when 
the  evening  shadows  fell,  I  could  not  but  remember 


FROM  THE  SAN   SHAN   AN        871 

once  again,  Sir  Robert  Hart's  dictum,  and  that  if 
anything  did  happen,  I  was  cut  off  here  from  all  my 
kind.     It  was  just  Fear,  the  Fear  that  one  personi- 
fies, but  another  time,  if  I  elect  to  live  by  myself 
among  an  alien  people,  I  do  not  think  I  will  im- 
prove my  mind  by  reading  first  any  account  of  the 
atrocities  those  people  have  perpetrated  at  no  very 
remote  period.  As  the  darkness  fell  I  was  apt  to  start 
and  look  over  my  shoulder  at  any  unexplainable 
sound,  to  remember  these  things  and  to  hope  they 
would  not  happen  again,  which  is  first  cousin  to  fear- 
ing they  would.  At  Pao  Ting  Fu,  not  far  from  here 
as  distances  in  China  go,  during  the  Boxer  trouble, 
the   Boxers  attacked  the  missionaries,  both  in  the 
north  and  the  south  suburb,  just  outside  the  walls  of 
the  town.     In  the  north  suburb  the  Boxers  and  their 
following  burned  those  missionaries  to  death  in  their 
houses,  because  they  would  not  come  out.     They 
dared   not.      Think    how   they    must   have    feared, 
those  men  and  women  in  the  prime  of  their  life, 
when   they   stayed   and  faced   a   cruel   death   from 
which  there  was  no  escape,  rather  than  chance  the 
mercies  of  the  mob  outside.     One  woman  prayed 
them  to  save  her  baby  girl,  her  little,  tender  Mar- 
garet, not  a  year  old,  her  they  might  kill,  and  her 
husband,  and  her  two  little  boys,  but  would  no  one 
take  pity  on  the  baby,  the  baby  that  as  yet  could  not 
speak.     But  though  many  of  those  who  heard  her 
prayer  and  repeated  it,   pitied,   they  did  not  dare 
help.       It    is    a    notable    Chinese    characteristic — 
obedience   to   orders — and   the   lookers-on   thought 
that  those  in  authority  having  ordered  the  slaughter 
of  the  missionaries  it  was  not  their  part  to  interfere. 
They  told  afterwards  how,  as  a  brute  rushed  up  the 


872  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

stairs,  the  mother,  desperate,  seized  a  pistol  that  lay 
to  her  hand  and  shot  him.  I  am  always  glad  she 
did  that.  And  others  told,  how,  through  the  moun- 
ting flames,  they  could  see  her  husband  walking  up 
and  down,  leading  his  two  little  boys  by  the  hand, 
telling  them — ah,  what  could  any  man  say  under 
such  terrible  circumstances  as  that. 

And  in  the  south  suburb  the  missionary  doctor 
was  true  almost  to  the  letter  of  the  faith  he  preached. 
As  the  mob  surrounded  him,  he  took  a  revolver, 
showed  them  how  perfect  was  his  command  over  the 
weapon,  how  he  could  have  dealt  death  right  and 
left,  and  then  he  tossed  it  aside  and  submitted  to  their 
wicked  will,  and  they  took  him  and  cut  off  his  head. 
But  the  fate  of  the  women  always  horrified  me  most. 
It  was  that  that  seemed  most  terrible  in  the  dusk 
of  the  evening.  They  took  two  of  the  unmarried 
women,  and  one  was  too  terrified  to  walk — having 
once  seen  a  Chinese  crowd,  filthy,  horrible  and 
always  filthy  and  horrible  even  when  they  are 
friendly,  one  realises  what  it  must  be  to  be  in  their 
power,  one  understands  that  girl's  shrinking  terror. 
Her  they  tied,  hands  and  feet  together,  and  slung 
her  from  a  pole,  exactly  as  they  carry  pigs  to  market. 
Is  this  too  terrible  a  thing  to  write  down  for  everyone 
to  read?  It  almost  seems  to  me  it  is.  If  so  forgive 
me.  I  used  to  think  about  it  those  evenings  alone 
in  the  San  Shan  An.  And  one  of  those  women,  they 
say,  was  always  brave,  and  gave  to  a  little  child  her 
last  little  bit  of  money  as  she  walked  to  her  death, 
and  the  other,  who  was  so  terrified  at  first,  recovered 
herself,  and  walked  courageously  as  they  led  her  to 
execution  outside  the  city  walls. 

When  I  thought  of  those  women  I  was  ashamed 


BRIDGE  ACROSS  MOAT,  PAO  TING  FU. 


CURTAIN  WALL  OF  WEST  GATE,  PAO  TING  FU. 


FROM  THE  SAN   SHAN   AN        373 

of  the  Fear  that  made  me  afraid  to  look  behind  me 
in  the  dark,  made  me  listen  intently  for  unusual 
sounds,  and  hear  a  thousand  unexplainable  ones. 
I,  in  the  broad  daylight,  went  and  looked  in  the 
two  sanctuaries  that  were  at  each  end  of  my  court- 
yard, each  with  an  image  and  altar  in  it.  In 
both  were  stored  great  matting  bundles  of  Spanish 
chestnuts,  and  in  the  larger,  oh  sacrilege !  oh  bathos ! 
was  my  larder,  and  I  saw  eggs,  and  meat,  and 
cabbage,  and  onions,  coming  out  of  it,  but  I  do  not 
think  anything  could  have  induced  me  to  go  into 
those  places  after  nightfall.  I  ask  myself  why — I 
wonder — but  I  find  no  answer.  The  gods  were  only 
images,  the  dust  and  dirt  of  long  years  was  upon 
them,  they  were  dead,  dead,  and  yet  I,  the  most 
modern  of  women  was  afraid — at  night  I  was  afraid, 
the  fear  that  seems  to  grow  up  with  us  all  was  upon 
me.  By  and  by  a  friend  sent  me  out  "  James 
Buchanan  " — a  small  black  and  white  k'ang  dog, 
about  six  inches  high,  but  his  importance  must  by 
no  means  be  measured  by  his  size.  I  owe  much 
gratitude  to  James  Buchanan  for  he  is  a  most  cheer- 
ful and  intelligent  companion.  I  intended  to  part 
with  him  when  I  left  the  hills,  but  I  made  him  love 
me,  and  then  to  my  surprise,  I  found  I  loved  him, 
and  he  must  share  my  varying  fortunes.  But  what 
is  a  wandering  woman,  like  I  am,  to  do  with  a  little 
dog? 

We  went  for  walks  together  up  and  down  the 
hill-sides,  and  the  people  got  to  know  us,  and 
laughed  and  nodded  as  we  passed.  The  Chinese 
seem  fond  of  animals,  and  yet  you  never  see  a  man 
out  for  a  walk  with  his  dog.  A  man  with  a  bird-cage 
in  his  hand,  taking  birdie  for  a  walk,  is  a  common 


874  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

sight  in  China,  so  common  that  you  forget  to  notice 
it,  but  I  have  never  seen  a  man  followed  by  a  dog, 
though  most  of  the  farm-houses  appear  to  have  one 
or  two  to  guard  them.     Here,  in  the  hills,  they  were 
just  the  ordinary,  ugly  wonks  one  sees  in  Peking, 
not  nearly  such  handsome  beasts  as  I  saw  up  in 
the  mountains.     The  farms  in  these  hills  evidently 
require    a    good    deal    of    guarding,    for    I    would 
often  hear  the  crack  of  a  gun.     Some  farmer,  so  my 
friend,  the  Language  Officer,   told  me,  letting  the 
"  stealer  man,"  and  anyone  else  whom  it  might  con- 
cern, know  that  he  had  fire-arms  and  was  prepared 
to  use  them.     At  first  the  reports  used  to  startle 
me,  and  make  me  look  out  into  the  darkness  of  the 
hill-side,   darkness  deepened  here  and  there  by  a 
tiny  light,   and  I  used  to  wonder  if  anything  was 
wrong.     "  Buchanan  "  always  regarded  those  reports 
as  entirely  out  of  place,  and  said  so  at  the  top  of 
his  small  voice.     But  then  he  was  always  challeng- 
ing wonks,  or  finding  "  stealer  men,"  so  I  paid  no 
attention  to  him. 

At  the  first  red  streak  of  dawn,  for  the  temple 
faced  the  east,  I  wakened.  And  all  my  fears,  the 
dim,  mysterious,  unexplainable  fears  born  of  the 
night,  and  the  loneliness,  and  the  old  temple,  were 
gone,  rolled  away  with  the  darkness.  The  crescent 
moon  and  the  jewelled  stars  paled  before  the  sun, 
rising  in  a  glory  of  purple  and  gold,  a  glory 
that  brightened  to  crimson,  the  pungent,  aromatic 
fragrance  of  the  pines  and  firs  came  to  my  nostrils, 
their  branches  were  outlined  against  the  deep  blue 
of  the  sky,  and  I  realised  gradually  that  another  blue 
day  had  dawned  and  the  world  was  not  empty,  but 
full  of  the  most  wonderful  possibilities  waiting  but 


FROM  THE  SAN   SHAN   AN        875 

to  be  grasped.  Oh  those  dawnings  in  the  San  Shan 
An!  Those  dawnings  after  a  night  in  the  open 
air!  Never  shall  I  forget  them! 

And  the  valley  was  lovely  that  autumn  weather. 
Day  after  day,  day  after  day,  was  the  golden  sun- 
shine, the  clear,  deep  blue  sky,  the  still,  dry,  in- 
vigorating air — no  wonder  everyone  with  a  literary 
turn  yearns  to  write  a  book  in  a  valley  of  the 
Western  Hills.  And  this  valley  of  the  San  Shan 
An  was  the  loveliest  valley  of  them  all.  It,  too, 
is  a  valley  of  temples,  to  what  gods  they  were  set  up 
I  know  not,  by  whom  they  were  set  up  I  know  not, 
only  because  of  the  gods  and  the  temples  there 
are  trees,  trees  in  plenty,  evergreen  firs  and  pines, 
green-leaved  poplars  and  ash-trees,  maples  and 
Spanish  chesnuts.  At  first  they  were  green,  these 
deciduous  trees,  and  then  gradually,  as  autumn 
touched  them  tenderly  with  his  fingers,  they  took 
on  gorgeous  tints,  gold  and  brown,  and  red,  and 
amber,  the  summer  dying  gloriously  under  the 
cloudless  blue  sky.  They  tell  me  that  American 
woods  show  just  such  tints,  but  I  have  not  been  to 
America,  and  I  have  seen  nothing  to  match  this 
autumn  in  the  Chinese  hills.  And  I  had  not 
thought  to  see  beauty  like  this  in  China! 

I  counted  seven  temples,  and  there  were  prob- 
ably more.  Up  the  hill  to  the  north  of  my  valley, 
beyond  a  large  temple  that  I  shall  always  remember 
for  the  quaint  and  picturesque  doorway,  that  I  have 
photographed,  was  a  plateau  to  be  reached  by  a 
stiff  climb,  and  here  was  a  ruined  shrine  where  sat 
calmly  looking  over  the  plain,  as  he  had  probably 
looked  in  life,  the  marble  figure  of  a  very  famous 
priest  of  the  long  ago.  It  is  ages  since  this  priest 


376  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

lived  in  the  hills,  but  his  memory  is  fragrant  still. 
He   had    two   disciples.      I    wonder  if   the   broken 
marble   figures,    one    beside   him    and   one  on   the 
ground   outside    the    shrine,    are    figures   of   them. 
There  came  a  drought  upon  the  land,   the  crops 
failed  and  the  people  starved,   and  these  two,   to 
propitiate  a  cruel  or  neglectful  Deity,  flung  them- 
selves into  a  well  in  the  temple  with  the  beautiful 
doorway.     Whether  the  rain  came  I  know  not,  but 
tradition  says  that  the  two  disciples  instead  of  per- 
ishing rose  up  dragons.     Personally  I  feel  that  must 
have  been  an  unpleasant  surprise  for  the  devotees, 
but  you  never  know  a  Chinaman's  taste,  perhaps 
they   liked    being   dragons.      The    country    people 
seem  to  think  it  was  an  honour.     There  was  a  farm- 
house just  beyond  this  shrine,  a  poor  little  place, 
but  here  on  the  flat  top  of  the  hill  there  was  a  little 
arable  land,  and  the  Chinese  waste  no  land.     Far 
up  the  hill-sides,  in  the  most  inaccessible  places,  I 
could  see  these  little  patches  of  cultivated  ground. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  the  labour  of  reaching  them 
would  make   the  handful   of  grain  they  produced 
too  expensive,  but  labour  hardly  counts  in  China. 
Up  the   paths   toiled  men  and  women,   intent  on 
getting   the   last   grain  out   of   the   land.     Off  the 
beaten  ways  walking  is  pretty  nearly  impossible  so 
steep   are   the   hill-sides,    but   of   course    there   are 
paths,   paths    everywhere,    paved   paths,    in    China 
there  are  no  untrodden  ways,  and  upon  these  paths 
I  would  meet  the  peasants  and  the  priests,  clad  like 
ordinary  peasants  in  blue  cotton,  only  with  shaven 
heads.      My   own   landlord   whom   my   boy   called 
"  Monk,"  and  generally  added,  "  He  bad  man,"  used 
to  come  regularly  for  his  rent,  and  he  was  so  fat  that 


FROM  THE  SAN   SHAN   AN        377 

the  wicked  evidently  flourished  like  a  green  bay  tree. 
All  the  priests,  I  think,  let  out  their  temples  as  long 
as  they  can  get  tenants,  and  whatever  they  are — my 
landlord  had  beaten  a  man  to  death — much  must  be 
forgiven  them.  They  have  gained  merit  because,  in 
this  treeless  China,  they  have  conserved  and  planted 
trees.  Some  little  profit,  I  suppose  they  make  out 
of  their  trees  because,  one  day  in  September,  I 
waked  to  the  fact  that  at  my  gate,  how  they  had 
climbed  up  the  toilsome,  roughly-paved  way  I  know 
not,  was  a  train  of  camels,  and  they  had  come  to 
take  away  the  sacks  that  were  stored  in  the  sanctu- 
ary under  the  care  of  the  god.  What  on  earth  was 
done  with  those  Spanish  chestnuts?  They  must 
have  been  valuable  when  they  were  worth  a  train 
of  camels  to  take  them  away. 

As  far  as  I  could  see  there  was  no  worship  done  in 
my  temple,  the  coolies,  who  carefully  locked  the 
sanctuary  doors  at  night,  were  filthy  past  all  descrip- 
tion. I  tried  to  put  it  out  of  my  thoughts  that  they 
occupied  a  k'ang  at  night  in  the  room  that  did  duty 
for  my  kitchen,  and  I  am  very  sure  that  they  were 
the  poorest  of  the  poor,  but  at  night  I  would  see  the 
youngest  and  dirtiest  of  them  take  a  small  and  evil- 
smelling  lamp  inside  along  with  the  god,  but  what 
he  did  there  I  never  knew.  Only  the  lamp 
inside,  behind  the  paper  of  the  windows  lit  up  all 
the  lattice-work  and  made  of  that  sanctuary,  that 
shabby,  neglected-looking  place,  a  thing  of  beauty. 
But,  indeed,  the  outside  of  all  the  buildings  was 
wonderful  at  night.  In  the  daytime  when  I  looked 
I  saw  how  beautiful  was  the  lattice-work  which  made 
up  the  entire  top  half  of  my  walls.  At  night  in  the 
courtyard  when  only  a  single  candle  was  lighted 


378  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

their  beauty  was  forced  upon  me,  whether  I  would 
or  not.  Always  I  went  outside  to  look  at  those 
rooms  lighted  at  night.  I  walked  up  and  down  the 
courtyard  in  the  dark — "  James  Buchanan "  gener- 
ally hung  on  to  the  hem  of  my  gown — I  looked 
at  the  lighted  lattice-work  of  the  windows,  and  I 
listened  to  the  servants  and  the  coolies  talking,  and 
I  wondered  what  they  discussed  so  endlessly,  in 
voices  that  sounded  quite  European. 

They  were  good  servants.  The  cook  I  know  I 
shall  regret  all  my  days,  for  I  never  expect  to  get  a 
better,  and  the  boy  was  most  attentive.  Any  little 
thing  that  he  could  do  for  me  he  always  did,  and  the 
way  they  uncomplainingly  washed  up  plates  never 
ceased  to  command  my  admiration.  I  had  only  a 
camp  outfit,  the  making  of  books  may  be  weariness 
unto  the  flesh,  as  Solomon  says  it  is,  but  even  then 
it  does  not  make  me  a  rich  woman,  so  I  did  not  wish 
to  spend  more  than  I  could  help,  and  yet  I  wanted 
to  entertain  a  friend  or  two  occasionally.  This 
entailed  washing  the  plates  between  the  courses,  and 
the  servants  did  it  without  a  murmur.  I  came  to 
think  it  was  quite  the  correct  thing  to  wait  while  the 
plates  and  knives  for  the  next  course  were  washed 
up.  My  friends,  of  course,  knew  all  about  it,  and 
entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing  cheerfully,  but 
the  servants  never  gave  me  away.  You  would  have 
thought  I  had  a  splendid  pantry,  and  my  little  scraps 
of  white  metal  spoons  were  always  polished  till  they 
looked  like  the  silver  they  ought  to  have  been.  My 
table  linen  I  made  simply  out  of  the  ordinary  blue 
cotton  one  meets  all  over  China,  and  it  looked  so 
nice,  so  suitable  to  meals  on  the  look-out  place,  that 
I  shall  always  cherish  a  tenderness  for  blue  cotton. 


FROM  THE  SAN   SHAN   AN        379 

Indeed,  but  for  the  lonely  nights  when  one  thought, 
it  was  delightful.  I  only  hope  my  friends  enjoyed 
coming  to  me,  as  much  as  I  enjoyed  having  them. 
Their  presence  drove  away  all  fears.  I  never  feared 
the  gods  in  their  sanctuaries,  I  never  thought  of 
those  who  had  perished  In  the  Boxer  trouble,  or 
the  possibility  of  the  return  ol  such  days  when  they 
were  with  me.  I  thought  I  had  lost  the  delights  of 
youth,  the  joy  of  the  land  of  long  ago,  but  I  found 
the  sensation  of  entertaining  friends  in  the  San  Shan 
An  was  like  the  make-believe  parties  of  one's  child- 
hood. Sitting  on  the  look-out  place,  away  to  the 
south,  we  could  see  a  range  of  low,  bald  hills.  They 
were  enchanted  hills.  The  Chinese  would  not  go 
near  them,  for  all  that  the  caves  they  held  hidden 
in  their  folds  were  full  of  magnificent  jewels.  We 
planned  to  go  over  and  get  them  some  day  before 
I  left  the  hills,  and  make  ourselves  rich  for  life. 
But  they  were  guarded  by  gnomes,  and  elves,  and 
demons,  who  by  their  nefarious  spells  kept  us  away, 
though  we  did  not  fear  like  the  Chinese,  and  we  are 
not  rich  yet,  though  jewels  are  there  for  the  taking. 

Oh,  those  sunny  days  in  the  mountain  temple 
when  we  read  poetry,  and  told  stories,  and  dreamed 
of  the  better  things  life  held  for  us  in  the  future! 
They  were  good  days,  days  in  my  life  to  be  remem- 
bered, if  no  more  good  ever  comes  to  me.  Was  it 
the  exhilarating  air,  or  the  company,  or  the  temple 
precincts  ?  All  thanks  give  I  to  those  dead  gods  who 
gave  me,  for  a  brief  space,  something  that  was  left 
out  of  my  life. 

There  was  only  one  blot.  That  imaginative 
document  known  as  "  Cook's  book  "  was  brought  to 
me  afterwards.  It  wasn't  a  book  at  all,  needless  to 


380  A   WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

say.  It  was  written  on  rejected  scraps  of  my  type- 
writing paper,  and  it  generally  stated  I  had  eaten 
more  "  Chiken  "  than  would  have  sufficed  to  run  a 
big  hotel,  and  disposed  of  enough  "  col "  to  keep  a 
small  railway  engine  of  my  own.  Then  the  flour, 
and  the  butter,  and  the  milk,  and  the  lard,  I  was 
supposed  to  have  consumed!  I  did  not  at  first  like 
to  say  much,  because  the  servants  were  so  good  in 
that  matter  of  washing  plates,  and  knives,  and  forks, 
and  whenever  I  did  remonstrate  the  boy  murmured 
something  about  "  Master."  He  was  a  true  China- 
man, he  felt  sure  I  would  not  grudge  anything  to 
make  a  man  comfortable.  The  woman  evidently 
did  not  matter.  She  was  never  urged  as  an  excuse 
for  a  heavy  bill.  I  put  it  to  him  that  the  presence 
of  "  Master  "  need  not  add  so  greatly  to  the  coal  bill, 
and  I  put  it  very  gently,  till  one  day  he  mentioned 
with  pride  that  "  Missie  other  boy  was  a  great  friend 
of  his."  And  I,  remembering  Tuan's  powers  in  the 
matter  of  squeeze,  had  gone  about  getting  these  ser- 
vants through  quite  different  channels!  But  once 
this  knowledge  was  borne  in  on  me,  I  became  hard- 
hearted. I  threatened  to  do  the  marketing  myself. 

"  I  talkee  cook,"  said  the  crestfallen  boy,  and  he 
did  "talkee  cook,"  said,  I  suppose,  Missie  wasn't 
quite  the  fool  they  had  counted  her,  and  presently 
he  came  back  and  returned  me  fifteen  cents!  After 
that  I  had  no  mercy,  and  I  regularly  questioned 
every  item  of  my  bills. 

But  they  were  simple  souls,  and  I  couldn't  help 
liking  them.  It  seemed  hardly  possible  they  could 
belong  to  the  same  people  who  had  slung  a  helpless 
woman  from  a  pole  like  a  pig,  bearing  her  to  her 
death,  a  woman  from  whom  they  had  had  naught 


CAMELS  AT  MY  GATE,  SAN  SHAN  AN. 


VISITORS  AT  THE   SAN  SHAN  AN. 


FROM  THE  SAN  SHAN   AN        381 

but  kindness.  And  yet  they  were.  The  selfsame 
subservience  that  made  them  bow  themselves  to  the 
Boxer  yoke,  was  exactly  the  quality  that  made  them 
pleasant  to  me,  who  was  in  authority  over  them. 
They  were  just  peasants  of  Babylon,  making  the 
best  of  life,  deceiving  and  dissimulating,  because 
deception  is  the  safeguard  of  the  slave,  the  only 
safeguard  he  knows.  And  they  certainly  made  the 
best  of  life.  It  amused  me  to  watch  their  pleasures, 
those  tEat  were  visible  to  my  eyes.  They  had  a 
little  feast  one  night,  with  my  stores,  I  doubt  not, 
and  they  caught  and  kept  crickets  in  little  three- 
cornered  cages  which  they  made  themselves.  At 
first,  when  I  went  to  the  temple,  these  cages  were 
hung  from  the  eaves  outside,  but  as  the  weather 
grew  colder  they  were  taken  inside,  and  I  could  hear 
a  cheery  chirping,  long  after  the  crickets  had  gone 
from  the  hills  outside.  It  rained  and  was  cold  the 
first  week  in  October,  and  the  servants,  like  the 
babies  they  were,  shivered,  and  suggested,  "  Missie 
go  back  Peking,"  and  one  day  when  it  rained  hard 
my  tiffin  was  two  hours  late,  and  was  brought  by  a 
boy  who  looked  as  if  he  were  on  the  point  of  burst- 
ing into  tears. 

Certainly  those  temples  are  not  built  for  cold 
weather.  Everything  is  ordered  in  China,  even  the 
weather,  and  the  first  frost  is  due,  I  believe,  on  the 
ist  of  November,  and  yet,  on  that  day,  I  sat  in  the 
warm  and  pleasant  sunshine  writing  on  the  platform 
that  looked  away  to  the  enchanted  hills,  reflecting  a 
little  sorrowfully  that  presently  I  would  be  gone,  and 
it  would  be  abandoned  for  the  winter. 

For  after  that  unexpected  rain,  which  for  once 
was  not  ordered,  the  days  were  lovely,  and  the  nights 


882  A   WOMAN    IN    CHINA 

times  of  delight.  The  stars  hung  like  diamond 
drogs  in  the  sky,  the  planets  were  scintillating  cres- 
cents, and,  when  the  moon  rose,  the  silver  moon, 
she  turned  the  courtyard  and  the  temple  into  a 
dream  palace  such  as  never  was  on  sea  or  land.  It 
was  beauty  and  delight  given,  oh  given  with  a  lavish 
hand. 

And  the  people  I  saw  in  the  hills  were  the  kind- 
liest I  had  yet  met  in  China.  I  had  little  enough  to 
do  with  them,  I  could  not  communicate  with  them, 
and  yet  this  was  borne  in  on  me.  Whenever  we 
met,  dirty  brown  faces  smiled  upon  me,  kindly 
voices  with  a  burr  in  them  gave  me  greeting,  I  was 
regularly  offered  the  baby  of  the  farm-house  at  my 
gates,  much  to  that  young  gentleman's  discom- 
fiture, and  whenever  there  was  anything  to  see,  they 
evidently  invited  me  to  stay  and  share  the  sight. 
Once  a  bridal  procession  passed  with  much  beating 
of  gongs,  the  bride  shut  up  in  the  red  sedan  chair, 
and  all  the  people  about  stood  looking  on,  and  I 
stayed  too.  Another  time  they  were  killing  a  pig, 
an  unwieldy,  gruesome  beast,  that  made  me  forswear 
pork,  and  I  was  invited  to  attend  the  great  event. 
The  poor  pig  was  very  sorry  for  himself,  and  was 
squealing  loudly,  but  much  as  I  wished  to  show  I 
appreciated  kindliness,  I  could  not  accept  that 
invitation. 

_  And  here  in  the  Western  Hills  I  sat  in  judgment 
upon  the  people  I  had  known  of  all  my  life  and 
been  amongst  for  the  last  ten  months.  Of  course, 
I  have  no  right  to  sit  in  judgment  but  after  all,  I 
should  be  a  fool  to  live  among  people  for  some  time 
and  yet  have  no  opinion  about  them.  And  it  seemed 
to  me  that  I  was  looking  with  modern  eyes  upon  the 


FROM  THE  SAN  SHAN   AN        883 

survival  of  one  of  the  great  powers  of  the  ancient 
world,  Babylon  come  down  to  modern  times, 
Babylon  cumbrously  adapting  herself  to  the  pres- 
sure of  the  nations  who  have  raced  ahead  of  the 
civilisation  that  was  hers  when  they  were  barbarian 
hordes. 

All  along  the  Pacific  Coast,  on  the  west  of 
America,  and  the  east  of  Australia,  they  fear  the 
Chinaman,  and — I  used  to  say  his  virtues.  I  put  it 
the  wrong  way.  What  the  white  races  fear — and 
rightly  fear — is  that  the  Chinaman  will  come  in  such 
hordes,  he  will  lower  the  standard  of  living,  he  will 
bring  such  great  pressure  to  bear,  he  will  reduce 
the  people  of  the  land  in  which  he  elects  to  live, 
the  people  of  the  working  classes,  to  his  own  con- 
dition— the  hopeless  condition  of  the  toiling  slaves 
of  Babylon.  It  has  been  well  said  that  the  East, 
China,  is  the  exact  opposite  of  the  West  in  every 
thought  and  feeling.  In  the  West  we  honour 
individualism.  This  is  true  of  almost  every  nation. 
A  man  is  taught  from  his  earliest  youth  to  depend 
to  a  great  degree  upon  himself,  that  he  alone  is 
responsible  for  his  own  actions.  Even  the  women 
of  the  more  advanced  nations — it  marks  their 
advancement,  whatever  people  may  think — are 
clamouring  for  a  position  of  their  own,  to  be  judged 
on  their  merits,  not  to  be  one  of  a  class  bound  by 
iron  custom  to  go  one  way  and  one  way  only.  In 
the  East  this  is  reversed.  No  man  has  a  right  to 
judge  for  himself,  he  is  hide-bound  by  custom,  he 
dare  not  step  out  one  pace  from  the  beaten  path 
his  fathers  trod.  The  filial  piety  of  the  Chinese  has 
been  lauded  to  the  skies.  In  truth  it  is  a  virtue  that 
has  become  a  curse.  To  his  elders  the  Chinaman 


884  A   WOMAN    IN    CHINA 

must  give  implicit,  unquestioning  obedience.  His 
work,  his  marriage,  the  upbringing  of  his  children, 
the  whole  ordering  of  his  life  is  not  his  business  but 
the  business  of  those  in  authority  over  him.  If  he 
stepped  out  and  failed,  his  failure  would  affect  the 
whole  community.  Whatever  he  does  affects  not 
only  himself,  but  the  farthest  ramifications  of  his 
numerous  family.  This  interdependence  makes  for 
a  certain  excellence,  an  excellence  that  was  reached 
by  the  Chinese  nation  some  thousands  of  years  ago, 
and  then — it  is  stifling. 

This  patriarchal  system,  this  continual  keeping 
of  the  eyes  upon  the  past,  has  done  away  in  the 
nation  with  all  self-reliance.  A  man  must  be  not 
only  a  genius,  but  possessed  of  an  extraordinarily 
strong  will-power  if  he  manage  to  shake  off  the 
trammels  and  go  his  own  way  unaided,  if  he  exer- 
cise the  sturdy  self-reliance  that  sent  the  nations  of 
the  West  ahead  by  leaps  and  bounds,  though  the 
Chinese  had  worked  their  way  to  civilisation  ages 
before  them.  Pages  might  be  written  on  the  sub- 
servience and  ignorance  of  the  women. 

"  Oh  but  a  woman  has  influence,"  say  the  men 
who  know  China  most  intimately.  And  of  course 
she  has  influence,  but  in  China  it  must  often  be  the 
worst  form  of  power,  the  influence  of  the  favourite, 
favoured  slave.  The  woman's  influence  is  the 
influence  of  a  degraded,  ignorant,  and  servile  class, 
a  class  that  every  man  treats  openly  with  a  certain 
contempt,  a  class  that  is  crippled,  mentally  and 
bodily.  The  Chinese,  be  it  counted  to  them  for 
grace,  have  always  held  in  high  esteem  a  well- 
educated  man,  educated  on  their  archaic  lines;  but 
not,  I  think,  till  this  century,  has  it  ever  occurred  to 


COOK    AND    BOY,    TEMPLE    COURTYARD. 


THE   LOOK-OUT   PLACE  ABANDONED   FOR   THE   WINTER. 


FROM   THE   SAN   SHAN   AN        385 

them  that  a  woman  would  be  better  educated.  A 
cruel  drag  upon  the  nation  must  be  the  appalling 
ignorance  of  its  women,  the  intense  ignorance  of 
half  the  population.  Things  are  changing,  they 
say,  but,  of  necessity,  they  change  most  slowly. 
Knowledge  of  any  kind  takes  long,  long  to  permeate 
an  inert  mass. 

We  praise  the  Chinaman  for  his  industry.  But, 
in  truth,  we  praise  without  due  cause.  We  of  the 
West  have  long  since  learned  of  the  dignity  of 
labour  and  if  we  do  not  always  live  up  to  our 
ideals,  at  least  we  appreciate  them,  and  judged  by 
this  standard  the  Chinaman  is  found  wanting.  He 
does  not  appreciate  the  dignity  of  labour.  The 
long  nails  on  the  fingers  of  the  man  upon  whom  for- 
tune has  smiled  proclaim  to  all  that  he  has  no  need 
to  use  his  hands ;  his  fat,  flabby,  soft  body  declares 
him  rich  and  well-fed,  and  that  there  is  no  need  to 
exert  himself.  He  is  a  man  to  be  envied  by  the 
greater  part  of  the  nation.  The  forceful,  strenuous 
life  of  the  West,  the  life  that  has  made  the  nations 
has  no  charms  for,  excites  no  admiration  in  his 
breast.  Manual  labour  and  strife  is  for  the  man 
who  cannot  help  himself.  And,  man  for  man,  his 
manual  labour  will  by  no  means  compare  with  that 
accomplished  by  the  man  of  the  West.  Nominally 
he  works  from  dawn  to  dark,  really  he  wastes  two- 
thirds  of  the  time,  sometimes  in  useless,  misdirected 
effort,  sometimes  in  mere  idle  loitering.  He  is  a 
slave  in  all  but  name.  His  life  is  dull,  dull  and 
colourless;  he  can  look  forward  to  no  recreation 
when  his  work  is  over,  theTrefore  he  spins  it  out  the 
livelong  day.  Home  life,  in  the  best  sense  of  the 
term,  he  has  none,  he  may  just  as  well  stay  at  his 

2B 


886  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

work,    exchanging    ideas    and    arguing    with    his 
fellows. 

Something  to  hope  for,  to  live  for,  to  work  for, 
seems  to  me  the  great  desideratum  of  the  majority 
of  the  Chinese  nation,  something  a  little  beyond  the 
colourless  round  of  life.  The  greater  part  of  the 
nation  is  poor,  so  poor  that  industry  is  thrust  upon 
it,  unless  it  worked  it  would  of  necessity  die;  the 
struggle  for  life  absorbs  all  its  energies,  gives  it  no 
time  for  thought  sufficient  to  raise  it  an  inch  above 
the  dull  routine  that  makes  up  the  daily  round,  but 
the  country  is  by  no  means  poor,  had  it  been  there 
would  have  been  no  such  civilisation  so  early  and  so 
lasting  in  the  world's  history,  no  such  fostering  of 
a  race  that  now,  in  spite  of  most  evil  sanitary  con- 
ditions, raises  four  generations  to  the  three  of  the 
man  of  the  West. 

China  is  a  rich  land  and  once  she  is  wiser  she 
will  be  far  richer  still,  for  in  her  mountains  are 
such  store  of  iron  and  coal  as,  once  worked,  may  well 
revolutionise  the  industrial  world. 

Now  the  thought  of  revolutionising  the  condition 
of  the  industrial  world  brings  me  quite  naturally  to 
the  consideration  of  missionary  effort. 

For  the  last  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  the 
Catholic,  and  for  the  last  hundred  years  the  Protes- 
tant Churches,  have  been  working  in  China  with  a 
view  to  proselytising  the  people.  And  converts  are 
notoriously  harder  to  make  than  in  any  other  mis- 
sionary field.  Still  they  are  made. 

To  me,  a  Greek,  it  does  not  seem  to  matter  by 
what  name  a  man  calls  upon  the  Great  Power  that 
is  over  us  all — the  thing  that  really  matters  is  the 
life  of  the  man  who  calls  upon  that  God.  Now  the 


FROM  THE  SAN  SHAN  AN        387 

missionaries,  whether  they  make  converts,  or 
whether  they  do  not,  do  this,  they  set  up  a  higher 
standard  of  living.  They  come  among  these  slave 
people,  they  educate  them,  men  and  women,  they 
care  for  the  sick  by  thousands,  and  by  their  very 
presence  among  them  they  show  them,  I  speak  of 
material  things,  there  is  something  beyond  their 
own  narrow  round,  and  they  make  them  desire  these 
better  things.  If  the  Western  nations  are  wise  they 
will  allow  no  poor  missionaries  in  China,  it  is  so 
easy  to  sink  to  the  level  of  the  people,  to  become  as 
Chinese  as  the  Chinese  themselves.  Personally,  I 
think  it  is  a  mistake  to  conform  to  Chinese  customs. 
The  missionaries  are  there  to  preach  the  better 
customs  of  the  West  and  there  must  be  no  lowering 
of  the  standard.  The  Chinaman  wants  to  be 
taught  self-reliance,  he  wants  to  be  taught  self- 
respect,  and,  last  but  by  no  means  least,  he  wants 
to  be  taught  to  amuse  himself  rationally  and 
healthily.  Now  this  in  a  measure,  even  this  last,  is 
what  the  missionaries,  the  majority  of  them,  are 
teaching  him,  though,  doubtless,  they  would  not  put 
their  teaching  in  exactly  those  words,  might  be  even 
surprised  to  hear  it  so  described.  They  are  helping 
to  break  down  the  great  patriarchal  system  which 
has  been  stifling  China  for  so  many  hundreds 
of  years.  They  are  teaching  responsibility,  the 
responsibility  of  every  man  and  woman  for  his 
and  her  own  doings. 

And  they  are  pioneers  of  trade,  forerunners  of  the 
merchants  who  must  inevitably  follow  in  their  foot- 
steps. There  are  those  who  will  say  that  they  do 
not  influence  the  more  highly  educated  portion  of 
the  community,  but  they  come  to  those  who  need 


888  A   WOMAN    IN    CHINA 

them  most.  The  rich  can  afford  to  send  their  sons 
abroad,  to  pay  for  medical  attendance.  It  is  to 
those  of  humble  means  that  the  schools  and  hospitals 
introduced  by  foreign  charity  are  an  immeasurable 
advantage,  a  boon  beyond  price.  For  the  man  who 
has  once  come  in  contact  with  these  foreigners  never 
forgets.  He  has  seen  their  possessions,  humble  in 
their  eyes,  wonderful  in  his,  and  in  his  heart  a  desire 
is  implanted — a  desire  for  something  a  little  better 
than  has  satisfied  his  fathers.  And  slowly  this  little 
leaven  of  discontent,  heavenly  discontent  and  dis- 
satisfaction with  things  as  they  are,  will  permeate 
the  whole  lump.  China  is  daily  coming  more  in 
contact  with  the  rest  of  the  world.  That  world 
ruthlessly  shuts  out  her  proletariat  because  it  will 
not  be  pulled  down.  It  is  well  then  that  the  pro- 
letariat should  be  levelled  up.  The  process  is 
slowly  beginning  when  the  missionaries  put  into 
the  hands  of  a  labourer  the  Gospels,  tell  him  he  is 
of  as  much  value  as  the  President  in  his  palace,  make 
him  desire  to  read,  to  wash  his  face  to  be  just  a  little 
better  than  his  fellows.  The  creed  he  holds  is  a 
small  matter,  but  it  is  a  great  matter  if  he  be  no 
longer  a  slave,  but  a  self-respecting  man  fit  to  mingle 
on  equal  terms  with  the  men  of  the  West.  Such  a 
man  will  be  more  capable,  more  ready  to  develop  the 
resources  of  his  own  rich  land;  as  a  trader  he  will 
be  of  ten  times  more  value  to  the  mercantile  world 
for  ever  on  the  look-out  for  a  market.  Whether 
the  nations  then  need  fear  him  will  be  matter  for 
further  consideration.  It  is  possible  things  may 
be  adjusted  on  a  comfortable  basis  of  supply  and 
demand. 

It  would  be  unfair  to  give  all  credit  for  changing 


FROM  THE  SAN  SHAN   AN        889 

China   to   the    missionaries.      They    are    only    one 
factor  in  a  general  movement  that  her  own  sons,  the 
men  of  new  China,  have  deeply  at  heart.     The  past 
is  going,  but  the  great  change  will  not  be  anything 
violent.     The  Boxer  tragedy  awakened  the  Western 
world  thoroughly  to  what  it  had  always  felt,  that  an 
Empire  like  Babylon  was  unsuited  to  the  present 
day,  and  they  said  so  with  shot  and  shell,  and  China 
is  taking  the  lesson  to  heart,  slowly,  slowly,  but  she 
is  taking  it.     She  will  have  learned  it  thoroughly 
when  the   need  for  change,   the   desire  for  better 
things,  the  power  to  insist  on  a  higher  standard  of 
living  shall  have  come  to  her  lower  classes,   and 
then  she  will  not  change  exactly  as  the  Western 
world  would  wish,  but  as  she  herself  thinks  best. 
The  Chinese  have  always  adapted  themselves,  and 
in    these    modern    times   they    will    use    the    same 
methods  that  they  have  done  through  the  centuries. 
There  came  forth  the  fingers  of  a  man's  hand  and 
wrote  upon  the  plaster  of  the  wall  of  the  King's 
Palace,    "  MENE    MENE    TEKEL    UPHAR- 
SIN."     In  tfiat  night  was  Belshazzar,  the  King  of 
the   Chaldeans,   slain,  and   Darius  the   Mede   took 
the  kingdom.     So  the  men  who  made  the  Forbidden 
City    sacred    have    passed    away,    the    Dowager- 
Empress  who  defied  the  West  has  gone  to  her  long 
home,  the  Emperor  is  but  a  tiny  child,  his  Empire 
is  confined  within  the  pinkish  red  walls  of  the  Inner 
City,  and  the  Republic,   the  new  young  Republic 
with  a  Dictator  at  its  head,  reigns  in  his  stead.     But 
the    nation    is    stirring,    the    slow-moving,    patient 
slaves  of  Babylon.     Will  not  a  new  nation  arise  that 
shall  be  great  in  its  own  way  even  as  the  nations  of 
the  West  are  great,  for  surely  the  spirit  of  those  men 


390  A  WOMAN   IN   CHINA 

who  built  the  wondrous  courtyards  and  halls  of 
audience  of  the  Forbidden  City,  who  planned  the 
pleasure-grounds  at  Jehol,  who  stretched  the  wall 
over  two  thousand  miles  of  mountain  and  valley,  who 
conceived  the  Altar  of  Heaven,  the  most  glorious 
altar  ever  dedicated  to  any  Deity,  must  be  alive  and 
active  as  it  was  a  thousand  years  ago.  And  when 
that  spirit  animates  not  the  few  taskmasters,  but 
the  mass  of  the  people,  when  it  reaches  the  toiling 
slaves  and  makes  of  them  men,  the  nation  will  be 
like  the  palaces  and  altars  they  built  hundreds  of 
years  ago,  and  the  rest  of  the  world  may  stand  aside, 
and  wonder,  and,  perhaps,  fear. 


THE    END 


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